


After Hours

by OhCaptainMyCaptain



Series: Stucky Porn Prompt Challenge [23]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, Authority!kink, Awkwardness, Beard Burn, Bearded Steve Rogers, Begging, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky is 17, Bucky is a persuasive little shit, Bucky just has a HUGE thing for Authority!kink and being submissive, Canonical Character Death (Sarah Rogers - Through Reference), Collars, Come Swallowing, Comfort, Consensual Underage Sex, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Talk, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub Relationship But Without Those Exact Titles, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Anal Penetration, Drunken Confessions, Experienced!Bucky, Explicit Sexual Discussion of Bucky/Clint, Face-Fucking, First Time Bottoming, First Time Making Love, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, He knows what he wants, Hickeys, Inappropriate Drunk Behavior, Inexperienced!Steve, Jealous!Steve, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, Light Punishment Play, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Power-bottom!Bucky, Praise Kink, Reference to Bucky/Clint, Resolved Sexual Tension, Restraints, Rimming, S&M Shop, Sarah Rogers Feels, Seduction, Sexual Tension, Spanking, Spitroasting, Steve's First Time With Another Guy, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subspace, Teacher!Steve, Teacher-Student Relationship, They Discuss It Though, Tiny Reference to Homophobic Violence in Ch. 5, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Topping from the Bottom, Topspace, Underage Drinking, Vibrators, WARNING FOR NSFW GIFS AT THE END OF EVERY CHAPTER, guilty!Steve, student!bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 310,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhCaptainMyCaptain/pseuds/OhCaptainMyCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wishes Bucky wouldn’t look at him the way he does – a deliberate gaze, subtly digging his top teeth into that pouty bottom lip; following his every move like a lion watches a gazelle. It’s been going on for months, perhaps longer... Steve talks, and Bucky listens. Well, that’s the point – Bucky’s supposed to be listening. Steve’s just doing his job, after all… No harm in that.</p><p>The problem is that it’s no innocent gesture, the way Bucky will have the top of his pen tracing the outline of his mouth... It’s also not innocent at all when Steve turns to look out at the sea of heads while he’s speaking and catches the quickest glimpse of the brunet sneaking a peek at his ass. And Bucky doesn’t even pretend to be bashful about it. He just meets Steve’s eyes and smirks – just the tiniest hint of a thing.</p><p>Even bigger a problem than all that is how absolutely wrong it is. There are a million and one reasons why Bucky’s behavior is inappropriate, and why the way it makes <em>Steve</em> feel is even more inappropriate.</p><p>For starters, Steve is Bucky’s teacher.</p><p>Secondly, he’s only seventeen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *NOTE: Please heed the Underage warning. Bucky is over the age of consent (according to the laws in New York), and there are several opportunities where Bucky gives Steve the option to stop what they're doing if he doesn't want it. Needless to say, for all of Steve's guilt, he _does_ want it. But if you have a problem of Bucky being seventeen, or his age difference with Steve, etc. I urge you not to read this. I'm not looking to make anyone uncomfortable.
> 
> \--
> 
> So I've had _several_ people in the past come to me on Tumblr and request a hot-for-teacher AU, with student!Bucky and teacher!Steve. One prompter in particular was inspired by this [gif set](http://missvoncheese.tumblr.com/post/97473733674/stucky-au-scandalous-scholastics-in-which-steve) (which isn't a DIRECT inspiration for this story but is actually similar in some ways, and it's awesome, and you should take a look at it haha).
> 
> Anyways, I didn't know whether to make it a high school setting or a University setting, so I put it to my Tumblr, and a lot of my followers were divided on which they wanted. Yadda yadda yadda, I wait a couple of months, go back, and now the consensus was for high school, so _this is what I came up with..._
> 
> (Join me in my dumpster, everyone...)
> 
> \--
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/) is basically a place for Stucky, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Marvel, smut, or inappropriate humour - so if you feel like coming and hanging out with me, please do <3
> 
> Also, here is some AMAZING artwork that my friend [notallbees](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/126100334845/aahhhhh-i-have-a-bunch-of-ideas-for-illustrations) did for this fic. Love yourself and go follow them. They do really fantastic work, and their fics are just as great. <3

Steve wishes Bucky wouldn’t look at him the way he does – a deliberate gaze, subtly digging his top teeth into that pouty bottom lip; following his every move like a lion watches a gazelle. It’s been going on for months, perhaps _longer_. He can only properly gauge based on the amount of time since he actually started noticing. Steve talks, and Bucky listens. Well, that’s the _point_ – Bucky’s supposed to be listening. Steve’s just doing his job, after all… No harm in that.

The _problem_ is that it’s no innocent gesture, the way Bucky will have the top of his pen tracing the outline of his mouth; sometimes pinched between his teeth or resting against the tip of his tongue. It’s also not innocent at all when Steve turns to look out at the sea of heads while he’s speaking and catches the quickest glimpse of the brunet sneaking a peak at his ass. And Bucky doesn’t even _pretend_ to be bashful about it. He just meets Steve’s eyes and smirks – just the tiniest hint of a thing.

Even bigger a problem than all that is how absolutely _wrong_ it is. There are a million and one reasons why Bucky’s behaviour is inappropriate, and why the way it makes Steve feel is even more inappropriate.

For starters, Steve is Bucky’s teacher.

Secondly, he’s only seventeen.

Seventeen, and Steve is _thirty_. Bucky isn’t even legal, for fuck’s sake. There is absolutely no justification for Bucky’s gaze to seer into Steve’s brain the way it does, or the fact that the last time he jerked off, his mind has sort of glazed over… only to imagine his student hiding under his desk, head bobbing between his legs while everyone else was none-the-wiser. Sure, it made Steve come, but it’d hit him unexpectedly, and he felt fucking _awful_ about it afterwards.

The confusing thing is, Steve’s never even been attracted to men. Oh, sure, he can look at a guy and admit if he’s attractive, but he’s never thought of one _that way_ before. He’s always identified as straight and never second-guessed it. He isn’t even sure if he’s _bisexual_. Honestly, maybe it’s just Bucky. But either way, it confuses the ever-loving shit out of him.

It’s not like that bothers him, the idea of liking another dude. Steve’s very open-minded and is all for the right to love whoever you love. If he forces himself _not_ to think about the fact that Bucky’s seventeen (and his student, for that matter), the situation alone would merely just confuse him. But Steve _can’t_ overlook the fact that Bucky’s seventeen, because _it’s seventeen for fuck’s sake._ He’d lose his job over it – not to mention how immoral that would be.

He does his damned hardest not to think of Bucky that way, but the kid makes it hard. That’d almost be a funny pun, if not for the fact that it’s a very serious matter. Steve actually wishes he could sit Bucky down and have a talk with him about it – about how there are a very specific set of boundaries that they can’t cross… That Bucky needs to stop staring at Steve so suggestively _because it just isn’t right_ … Because he’s an adult and Bucky’s just a kid… He’s young; he doesn’t know who he is or what he wants yet, and for Steve to take advantage of that would be abusing his power and he could never do that, _and it gives Steve horrible ideas, ideas that leave him wracked with guilt but also get his dick so fucking hard, and_ – no, Jesus fucking Christ, he can’t think of that…

But it’s not like this is something he can actually talk to his student about. Because what if he’s wrong? What if Bucky got offended – _disgusted_ – and it turned out that Steve had just been going crazy or something; that Bucky never even meant it that way? That could make the situation really messy…

Then there’s the other end of the spectrum. He could get him alone and bring it up, and Bucky could admit to it – but then they’re _alone_ , and what if Bucky tried to initiate something? Steve would have to say no – of course he fucking would have to – but, oh god, what if he didn’t? What if he let it happen? He could do his best to keep his willpower intact, his self-restraint. But he can’t guarantee that if Bucky got close enough to touch him that he wouldn’t just let the boy _keep_ touching him.

 _Ah, fuck._ There’s a seat in Hell with Steve’s name carved right into it, that’s for damn sure.

Best to leave it be. That’s the best course of action; don’t risk anything by bringing it up and drawing unnecessary attention to it, and simply let it blow over. Bucky’s a teenager, after all – teenagers’ wants are fleeting things. Steve’s just a phase for him, and one that he’ll surely get over.

Steve cannot _believe_ that the thought actually makes him feel a little disappointed.

Yep. Hell. No doubt about it.

* * *

“Mr. Barnes, can you stay behind a moment?” Steve asks distractedly, tidying up the messy pile of essays his class had just littered onto his desk before the bell had rung. He hears Bucky reply cheerily, “Yeah, sure,” before hastily saying to his buddies that he’ll catch up with them in a few minutes. Steve taps the pile off the hardwood, getting them all into a neat little stack, before tucking them away into his bag. He’s glad it’s the end of the day; Bucky’s lingering stare seemed to be on high fucking alert today, to the point where it was actually distracting. Steve just needs to get home and into a cold shower, ASAP. 

“What’s up, Teach?” Bucky’s voice cuts into his thoughts, startling him by its sudden close proximity. He’s standing next to him, and luckily Steve’s able to mask the effect it has on him by casting him a quick, polite smile before he gestures to Bucky’s table.

“You can take a seat if you want – or stay standing, it’s up to you,” Steve says. “I’m gonna sit down, though.”

He lowers himself into his chair and smiles at him as casually – _and as formally_ – as possible. Bucky just meets his smile and holds it for a second, before chuckling and propping himself up on top of his desk. He’s a tall kid (not as tall as Steve, but pretty close), so his feet easily touch the ground. Steve tries to think of that as some sort of _positive_ attribute – an excuse of some kind – but he’s smart enough to know that that’s definitely just grasping at straws. Bucky raises an eyebrow as if to say, _We gonna play the staring contest all day or are you gonna talk?_ So Steve awkwardly clears his throat and gets right to the point.

“I’ve noticed you seem to be struggling a little bit lately,” he says, trying to be delicate. All things aside, he really does care about the well-being of all his students – exceptionally-so, actually. He’s got quite the reputation for being a favourite amongst the students at Shield High, both for his easily approachable attitude, his passions for history and art (for which he teaches both), and how he’s always got a smile on his face.

His students always feel like they can talk to him; see him as a friend as well as their teacher. That’s part of the reason why Steve calls Bucky _Bucky._ Because he _had_ called him by his birth name, James, at the beginning of the year, but that wasn’t the name he liked to go by. After asking about four times for Steve to not call him James, Steve did as he asked. It wasn’t anything strange or out of the ordinary – he’d had plenty of kids ask to be referred to by their nicknames before. Steve had never thought anything of it until recently; until he started questioning his every reaction and scrutinizing whether it was appropriate or not.

Part of him is already nervous about having this conversation, because _they’re alone,_ and that’s how most of his fantasies start _and it’s not right._ But his responsibilities as Bucky’s teacher come first, even when it means he has to do the unpleasant things, such as confronting a student when they’re failing. And that’s exactly the situation here; Bucky’s failing, _badly_ lately.

And that’s confusing, because Bucky had been one of his strongest students academically when the semester started. He hasn’t completely failed the course yet, but if he doesn’t start pulling his grades up that’s where it’s going to head.

“You got less than sixty percent on your last three unit tests,” he continues. “What I don’t understand is that all of the _work_ is right, but just the _answers_ are wrong.”

“I have a hard time drawing conclusions?” Bucky jokes, grin expanding.

Steve sighs. “James, I know that sometimes, kids your age don’t always take their classes seriously. I mean, when are you going to use a lot of this stuff later on in life, right? No, maybe you’re never going to have to know what year the Declaration of Independence was signed, or have to list off every country in the Second World War Allies - but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still at least _try_ while you’re here.”

Bucky just keeps staring at him with that little smile, looking at Steve as if he finds him the most adorable thing on the planet. Steve forces himself to ignore it; instead just threads his fingers together and looks back at Bucky expectantly. After a few moments of silence, Bucky finally averts his gaze and looks down with a small shrug. Exhaling another chuckle, he says, “I’m not _tryin_ ’ to fail, sir. I guess I’ve just been distracted lately.”

At that, he peers back up from under dark eyelashes. _Fuck…_ Steve’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, because that’s The Look – the one Bucky keeps giving him when all eyes are on Steve and Bucky can get away with it. He can feel his heart start pounding just a bit faster in his chest, so he clears his throat and pretends to distract himself by reaching into his bag and sliding out Bucky’s last test from the paper-clipped pile. He’s most definitely _not_ picturing how Bucky would look with his back arching off that table while he fisted his hands in Steve’s hair and moaned his name, no he is definitely fucking not. Because that’d be… that’d be wrong, and… _Shit._

“I need you to get this signed by your parents before next class,” Steve tells him. He wills his voice to be sturdy but it still cracks halfway through. Bucky’s smirk darkens unashamedly, but Steve does his best to ignore that, too. Holding it out, he continues, “And whatever it is that’s been distracting you, perhaps you need to work on that. Prioritizing is a good strategy to learn in high school. When you’re in class, I expect you to focus - on the work,” he adds quickly.

Pushing himself off the desk, Bucky approaches Steve’s and takes the test from him. Their fingers brush together and Steve’s skin feels hot under his long-sleeved shirt. Bucky’s eyes are on their hands and it only lasts a _second_ , but then Steve pulls away quickly and nods to himself. Turning away quickly, he goes for nonchalant as he closes his bag back up and then scoops it up under one arm – his lousy way of trying to signal that their meeting is over.

Bucky doesn’t make to leave. He lets his eyes roam down Steve _once_ , then back up, even though he knows Steve can see the whole thing. But he throws on his best innocent expression when he meets his teacher’s eyes again and says, “Y’know, I think I’d do much better if I had a tutor?”

 _Oh, for Christ’s sake…_ There’s another scenario that’ll find its way into Steve’s fantasies later, that’s just great. But in reality, not gonna fucking happen. Steve knows exactly where something like that would head.

Awkwardly, he nods towards the classroom door. “There’s a whole list of them provided in the guidance counselor's office. I’m sure if you want some extra help outside of class, you can – you can find it there.”

“You mean you won’t help me?” Bucky asks, _really_ laying on the innocent act with expertise. His brows even get that little confused crease between them and everything. This kid is fucking _precious_ , and Steve really wishes he wouldn’t be.

“I can help during my office hours if you ever need it, or after class until four,” he answers. Carefully, he adds, “That’s about all I can offer, though.”

“I thought tutors met at, like, little cafes and stuff,” Bucky jokes again. “Or came over to the tutoree’s house, like in _Mean Girls_.”

“I don’t understand that reference, first of all,” Steve says. “Secondly, ‘tutoree’ isn’t a word--”

“Is to! Check out Urban Dictionary if ya don’t believe me.”

“And _thirdly_ , that’d be highly inappropriate,” Steve finishes. “Afraid that’s against the rules, Buck. Sorry.” So things don’t get uncomfortable or awkward, he gives an apologetic smile and then does a _real_ gesture towards the door to get Bucky to follow him. He knows that Bucky’s extending their meeting on purpose – whether it’s to actually _try_ anything or not, Steve doesn’t know. But he just keeps trying to remember, _do the right thing; you’re the adult here_ , over and over in his brain.

“No one knows history like you do though, Teach,” Bucky says with a smile, following him ( _thank fuck_ ).

“I’ve heard the tutors here know their stuff, so I think you’ll be in good hands,” Steve replies. He waits until Bucky leaves the room to turn off the lights and shut the door behind him. You’d think that there was a plague in the school or something, with how quickly the students leave the second the bell rings. It’s only been about ten minutes, so Steve had hoped that there’d still be some lingering teens around them; so they’d be back out in the _open_ where Steve could be grounded back down to reality and force away the urge to check Bucky out the same way _he’d_ just been checked out.

Bucky sighs over-dramatically, holding up the test as he starts to back-step away. “Both parents, or is just one good?” He never stops with that fucking smirk of his; Steve has to fight the impulse to tell him to cut that out before he wipes it off _for_ him… Teaches him a lesson he’ll actually _pay attention to_ … Turn that smirk into an ‘O’ shape; frozen around a silent scream while Steve made him come… _Shit, for fuck’s sakes, Steve, fucking STOP._

“Just one is fine,” he answers, already backing up in the opposite direction. “By tomorrow, Bucky. No excuses.”

Bucky grins, biting his lip. “Whatever you say, sir,” he answers suggestively – _way too obediently_. Then did he just--? Did he just _wink?_ Steve can’t tell; it happens too quickly, and then the brunet’s spinning around and striding to the staircase. He’s gone in the blink of an eye, leaving Steve to (hate himself a little more) imagine him being that obedient while he looked up at him, all doe-eyed and submissive and beautiful, and called him _Sir_ while he asked to suck Steve’s cock.

He releases the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding; frowns, turns, and heads in the opposite direction.

What was that about Hell…?

Right. One-way ticket.

* * *

Steve completely forgot that Bucky knows where he lives; that’s what he gets for living in the same house for the last ten years, he guesses. The fact is, most of his students know where he lives, since it’s in a very large residential neighbourhood. Plenty of kids come by every year for trick-or-treating at Halloween, and apparently teenagers refuse to outgrow that sort of thing, too. It never fails to surprise him how _old_ some of the people are who still come up to his door and ask for junk food. Shouldn’t they be at house parties or something? Like, it’s not as if he’d condone underage drinking, but he’d been their age once, too, and he definitely remembers hitting up lots of parties. 

Unfortunately, the whole thing leaves him just as blind-sighted when his doorbell rings later that evening and he opens the door to find Bucky standing there. Steve doesn’t even attempt to hide how stunned he is; just freezes with his hand on the door, as his eyes widen and his brows furrow.

“Bucky--? What’re you--? How do you know where I live?” he stammers, not having remembered the whole Halloween thing yet. He _thinks_ Bucky might’ve come by his house with a group of his friends the previous year, but he can’t remember what he was dressed up as, if he did. He’s relieved about that; it’s not like he needs anything _else_ to make him feel any creepier.

Bucky’s grinning at him like this is the most normal thing in the world. He just laughs and says, as if it should be obvious, “Uh, trick-or-treat? Last year? I was the Phantom of the Opera, remember? Sorry, should I have an empty pillow case with me to jog your memory or somethin’?”

“Why’re you here?” Steve asks abruptly. He can’t help but glance around, looking for Bucky’s friends; worried that someone might see.

Bucky’s not phased. “I have my test for you. Signed and everythin’.”

“And that couldn’t have waited until _tomorrow_?”

Bucky’s smile tapers a bit as he shrugs again. “Probably could’ve. I actually was hopin’ I could talk to you though – about the whole tutorin’ thing, I mean.”

“I told you that the guidance counselors office--”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky interrupts, waving his hand half-heartedly. “That’s part of what I wanted to talk about.”

This is the part where Steve should say no. That’d be the responsible thing to do – say no and tell him they can discuss it in class tomorrow (where Steve won’t be tempted to do something stupid). But Steve’s forever the optimist; always wants to give people the benefit of the doubt. So he sighs and rubs his eyes, nodding.

Bucky pauses, and Steve isn’t sure why. Then he chuckles shortly and asks, “You gonna have me standin’ in the cold the whole time, or…?”

“Oh, sorry,” Steve says, moving out of the way. He doesn’t exactly gesture for Bucky to come inside, but the invitation is still there. Bucky beams and waltzes right on in, and Steve’s eyes follow him with a frown to match. Okay, it’s cool; it’s fine. He can do this… Not going to be any sort of thing. He’ll make sure he keeps distance between himself and Bucky, keep the conversation to a minimum and _on topic_ , and then politely ask Bucky to leave.  

He senses that Bucky has a habit of making himself at home, no matter where he is. That seems pretty accurate to his character, because Bucky’s always struck him as an open book; charismatic and lively, with a personality that seems to make everyone gravitate towards him. So when he kicks off his shoes and then heads straight towards the living room as if he’s already hung out in Steve’s place a hundred times before, Steve can only sigh, shut the door behind him, and follow.

“Wow, Teach! And _who_ said that teachers don’t have lives outside of school?” Bucky muses, eyeing all of the framed posters Steve has lining his wall with an opened-mouth grin; eyes, filled with interest. Steve’s always been interested in art – namely, graphic comics and cinema. His walls are absolutely covered in vintage posters that’d taken him years – and sometimes intense bidding wars on eBay – to get, all from classic horror, sci-fi, or action films. Bucky notices the poster of the original Batman cover art above the wall where his TV is, and when he says, “How old-school,” it reminds Steve _exactly_ why he can’t let Bucky dawdle and bide his time like this.

His actions are stiff as he stops next to his couch and tries to steer the conversation back on track. “So what was it about the tutors that you have a problem with?”

“Whoah, nice painting,” Bucky says, as if he hadn’t heard him. He approaches it quickly and regards it with genuine interest. Steve watches him squint as he tries to make out the messy signature in the bottom, right-hand corner. Surprised, Bucky looks to him and asks, “ _You_ did this?”

“Yeah, back in University,” Steve answers, sighing. “Bucky, c’mon. The tutors. Why don’t you want to see them?”

Bucky shrugs, continuing to make his way around the living room and taking everything in. Steve’s definitely a bigger closet-geek than his students would probably ever guess. Bucky seems to find it the most interesting thing in the world. “They don’t know me, sir,” he answers factually. “Don’t know how it is I operate. I have a hard time when it comes to homework, and _facts_ ,and all that crap, if it’s with someone I don’t know. I just get easily frustrated.”

Reaching out and running his fingers along a glass figurine of Béla Lugosi’s _Dracula_ , he murmurs, “You know me, though. And I actually like listenin’ to you talk… Sticks with me more that way…”

Steve’s face flares. “That’s not what I’ve been seeing in your work,” he reminds him, trying to get a tighter grip on the reigns. “If you learn so much better when I teach you, you wouldn’t be failing.”

“Wow!” Bucky laughs, striding right past him towards Steve’s liquor cabinet, having only _just_ noticed it. Before Steve knows what’s happening, Bucky grabs his bottle of Gold Patrón tequila to inspect it. “Never would’a pegged you for the hard liquor type,” he says teasingly, still cradling the bottle to his chest as he looks at the others with interest. “Thought you’d be more of a beer man – hey!”

Steve grabs the bottle from his hands and puts it back in its spot. “ _Bucky_ , stop,” Steve says with exasperation. He has one hand on Bucky’s shoulder, turning him away from the cabinet. “You’re too young to be drinking anyways; I’m sure as hell not gonna let you do it in my house.”

Bucky rolls his eyes with a scoff, but he lets himself be guided away without resistance; just trudges back further into the living room. “Yeah, I bet you _never_ drank when you were my age.”

“I never drank at any of my _teachers’_ homes, and I didn’t let it affect my grades,” Steve retaliates. As if he needed the reminder of how much older he is – it’s both a sobering fact, but also an intoxicating one, and isn’t that just a big fucking conundrum. He sighs again when Bucky gets his eye now on Steve’s stereo, now moving to it enthusiastically and turning it on.

Steve tries to get Bucky’s attention by repeating his name, but Bucky just ignores him and changes the radio stations until he finds one he likes. It’s Z100, and it always plays the popular chart-toppers. Unfortunately, _chart-toppers_ these days basically means ‘club-music’ – which means heavy basses and a beat you can sway your hips to.

Pretty much how Bucky suddenly is now.

Steve’s mouth instantly goes dry at the sight. It’s not like Bucky’s full-on dancing or anything; at first, he just nods his head while looking at the stereo. But then he looks back to Steve and grins, and that’s when he casually starts rocking his hips a little bit. It’d come off as subtle if Steve didn’t know better, but _fuck_ , he knows _better_ , and therefore those hips are exactly where his gaze falls.

Bucky notices. Laughing, he walks up to Steve and grabs his hands, pulling him over to the stereo before Steve’s brain can catch up with his body. “C’mon, dance with me,” Bucky says, putting on that innocent act again. That’s a little fucking _ironic,_ considering that the very _next_ thing he does is put his hands on Steve’s waist and press their hips together so he can start swaying against him.

Steve’s eyes bulge from his head, and the instant contact is already enough to get him hardening in his jeans, and Bucky’s eyes are filled with mirth and mischief – _does he feel Steve’s growing erection?_ Oh, shit… Lifting his hands – _I’m not touching you; I’m not touching him, see??_ – Steve tries to back away.

"Bucky--"

“C’mon, it’s just dancin’ – ain’t nothing wrong with that,” Bucky laughs in response, getting all close and snug again. He presses his hips flush against Steve’s and does a little twist with them, and for a second, Steve sees white as the quietest groan escapes him. He can tell that Bucky _definitely_ picks up on that, and that’s what jars him.

“Buck – wait – no, okay, _enough_!”

This time, he makes sure to turn away completely; out of Bucky’s grasp, putting distance between them again. His breathing is a little heavier, and _doesn’t this kid understand that they shouldn’t be doing this? Doesn’t Bucky see how wrong this would look to everyone else?_ He’s expecting Bucky to look hurt by Steve’s apparent rejection (is that what he’d done? Does that count as ‘rejecting’ him?).

…Does Steve really _want_ to reject him…?

Bucky doesn’t look hurt, though. On the contrary, he looks at Steve as if he sees right through him and his defenses. Remaining where he is, he holds the blond’s stare and then says casually, _slowly_ , “Y’know I’m also taking that mandatory health class, yeah? Well, we just finished the unit on sexuality and reproduction – the importance of safe sex, the chemical reactions in the body when aroused, all the biological stuff for how the whole thing works… You know what I found out that I never knew before? Your pupils dilate when you’re turned on.”

If Steve’s supposed to reply with some sort of counter argument, now’s a good a time as any. Except he realizes exactly what Bucky’s implying, and his throat suddenly feels tight. All he can do is swallow. Bucky bites his lip, eyes looking like they visibly fucking _darken_. His voice sounds like it drops a tad, thick with arousal, as he suggestively adds, “Your pupils? They’re big as fuck. Can see them from all the way over here.”

He starts to come back towards Steve _slowly_ – as if to give him the chance to try running again, and Steve wonders if Bucky already _knows_ that Steve isn’t going to run. He _should_ , that’s fucking obvious. But his feet feel nailed to the floor; him, lulled in by that gravitational pull of Bucky’s. The only thing he can do is back up a couple feet, until his legs bump into the couch. Bucky checks him out – _up and down_ – without shame, until his chest is practically pressed to Steve’s.

They’re so close in height that the top of Bucky’s nose comes to the bottom of Steve’s, so Bucky can _still_ have room to look up at him through those lashes of his, while also being even enough that all Steve would have to do is tilt his chin down to kiss him. His heart’s pounding wildly.

“How about mine?” Bucky whispers. “How big are my pupils?”

 _Massive_. There’s only the thinnest ring of colour left to his irises. Steve stares back, completely out of his depth; opens his mouth to answer but then just sort of leaves his lips parted. His breathing comes out shaky. He hopes Bucky can’t hear it over the music. Bucky’s looking at him like he’s a meal; he isn’t smiling anymore. That’s a gaze that spells, _I want you to fuck me into the floor_. There’s no two ways about it. Not saying anything, Bucky slides his hands up the front of Steve’s cardigan – thumbs brushing over the white shirt underneath once he hits near the collarbones – until he’s palming the older man’s shoulders.

He guides Steve to sit down. Feeling hypnotized by their unfaltering eye contact – the heat and intensity in Bucky’s stare – Steve lets himself fall back into the couch without struggle. Now he’s looking _up_ at him, and at this angle, Bucky seems so much older than he really is… But he isn’t. It’s one of those smacks in the face again – a nice, cold splash of reality – and Steve needs to end this before he does something he can’t take back… Like undo Bucky’s pants and get his lips stretched around his student’s cock or something…

He opens his mouth with absolutely _zero_ planned in terms of what he’s going to say. Bucky leans down then, and Steve finds himself robbed of all words a second time; just presses himself harder into the couch cushions behind him, as Bucky places one hand on either side of his head and then gets his face close enough to teasingly brush his lips against Steve’s.

“Just watch,” he whispers, almost inaudibly. “You’re allowed to watch me…”

Straightening back up, the first thing Bucky does is cross his hands at the hem of his black v-neck t-shirt and pull it over his head. It leaves his hair slightly disheveled, but that’s not where Steve is staring. Bucky’s tall and always had the appearance of being lean, but Steve isn’t prepared for the abs he’s got going on. He’s actually got more meat on him than he appears to, what with the looseness of his shirts. His biceps are bigger, too. The dog tags he always wears fall back to the center of his chest, clinking together.

Steve’s definitely fully hard now.

Bucky tosses his shirt aside and starts to rock his hips again in time with the music from the stereo. It seems like _forever_ that he keeps his fiery gaze locked with Steve’s – never blinking, never stopping his slow dance; reveling in the way he’s got Steve’s full attention on him like this. Steve couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. And that’s part of the problem: he _doesn’t_ want to look away. Bucky is fucking _stunning_ ; puts all of his darkest fantasies to shame. Bucky’s got him right where he wants him, and Steve knows this is going to end _badly_ \- but the way Bucky’s moving his body is exquisite, so it’s making Steve start to not give a shit.

“I know you see me starin’ when we’re in class,” Bucky says, voice like velvet. He slides his hands up his chest, the curve of his neck, and then cards his fingers through his hair. “You pretend you don’t, but you do. I see it. How can you expect me to pay attention when you look the way you do?”

“Bucky…” _We can’t do this. We shouldn’t do this._ Steve loses his ability to talk again at the most inopportune time.

“Started a few months ago – can’t pinpoint when, but… I had a dream. You bent me over your desk and fucked me with your hand over my mouth so no one else would hear me scream your name,” he continues. Inhales deeply and bites his plush bottom lip again, clearly remembering the image in his head. “That’s all I’ve been able to see since, every time I look at you, sir. Thought it was just a stupid _schoolboy_ crush – some fantasy that was all in my head… ‘Till I started noticing you blushing around me.”

Steve gulps. _Deny it_ , he tells himself. He can’t. It’s exactly what happened, even though he’d tried so hard for it not to be.

“You feel disgusted with yourself,” Bucky murmurs pointedly. His fingers crawl back down to the waistline of his skinny jeans… Pop open the button and then _slowly_ drag down the zipper… “You’re not supposed to want me… I’m everything you can’t have: young… untainted… _innocent_ flesh… Can’t say I blame you, though… Makin’ like the way of Eve, right? Fruit tastes so much better when it’s forbidden…”

(He ghosts his hand over the outline of the hard-on visible against his inner thigh, and Bucky’s breath catches at the contact. His eyes flutter closed for just a fraction of a second, and Steve exhales heavily, squirming a bit; eyes not sure where to stick, because Bucky’s grinding his palm over his own cock for fuck’s sake, but his face looks absolutely, _sinfully_ hot right now…)

“Society tells you it’s wrong,” Bucky continues, eyes opening again beneath heavy lids. He starts to teasingly slide his jeans down his hips. “But what if _I_ want it, too? M’not a kid, sir. I know you may think I am, but I’ve been through more in my life than a lot of ‘adults’… I’m old enough to know what I want and what I’m doing…”

He gets himself out of his pants and toes them aside before removing his socks. He’s left in nothing but his black boxer briefs; the hard outline of his dick completely noticeable as it pushes against the fabric. Steve wants to touch him so badly. His hands flex by his sides, but he forces them into fists so he doesn’t give into the urge. Bucky gets a little, adoring smirk as he takes in how hard Steve’s still struggling.

“Don’t worry, you’re not breakin’ any laws,” he then tells him. Steve completely freezes as Bucky plants one knee beside him and then grabs onto the back of the couch. Swinging the other long leg over him, Bucky straddles his lap and leans in quickly, caging him in. Bucky smells like cigarettes and body spray. It goes straight to Steve’s head and makes it spin off its hinges.

Bucky reaches up slowly and cradles one side of Steve’s face. He gets close enough that he can tease the blond’s lips with his own – not enough to constitute as an actual kiss, but enough that Steve’s left aching for exactly that.

“Don’t worry, Steve…” Bucky breathes. “I’m over the age of consent… I checked…”

Steve’s eyes are glued to Bucky’s. He looks about as helpless as he feels – and right now, he feels like he doesn’t know _how_ to feel with himself. Because he can put a stop to this. He’s stronger than Bucky, he could just physically move him off of his lap, get to his feet, and demand for him to leave.

The fact is, he doesn’t want to do any of that, no matter _how_ much he’s trying to remind himself that what they’re doing is wrong.

“You can touch me if you want,” Bucky continues. “Or you can tell me to stop. Tell me to stop and I’ll go, right now, and I won’t tell no one. You won’t have to worry about losin’ your job, or my parents finding out. You’re allowed to say no.”

“This is wrong…” is the only thing Steve can muster enough brain power to say. It comes out barely above a whisper.

“The most pleasurable things in life usually are.”

“Buck…”

“Are you askin’ me to stop?”

It’s a serious question; sure, it doesn’t cool the burning in Bucky’s eyes, but Steve can tell by his tone that Bucky isn’t fucking around about this. It’s so fucked up, this role reversal – as if _Bucky’s_ the one trying to make sure that _Steve’s_ consenting. How fucking backwards is that? But this is it, this is Steve’s chance. Bucky’s giving him an easy out. Steve can say no, and Bucky swears he’ll leave and they’ll never have to talk about it again.

In that moment, Steve realizes that those aren’t the actions he’s going to take, because Bucky’s completely obliterated his common sense. Instead, he gives the tiniest shake of his head. One corner of Bucky’s mouth turns up into a smirk; lips parted, and Steve can see the tip of his tongue and he wants to fucking suck on it. He just clenches his teeth together as a poor substitute.

“You’re nervous,” Bucky whispers soothingly. Chuckling breathily, he says, “I like that. You wanna touch me but you don’t know how. It’s okay, Steve, you’re not doin’ anything wrong here. This’ll be our little secret…” Steve goes rigid when he feels Bucky reach one hand between them to feel for Steve’s crotch. His palm presses against the thick silhouette of his dick and squeezes instinctually. Steve’s brows crease as he gasps, and Bucky’s eyes widen with surprise, his open-mouthed smile growing.

“Or maybe _not_ so little?” he teases.

Bucky’s hand is on his dick and Steve just _snaps_. Exhaling loudly – brows still tightly furrowed – he closes the small space between their lips and slams his mouth to Bucky’s. It pulls an immediate moan from Bucky’s throat, and suddenly they’re kissing heatedly. Steve grabs Bucky’s hip with one hand and reaches up to hold the back of his head with the other; tilting their faces from side to side feverishly as they part their lips and beat their tongues together.

He feels Bucky kneading him from over his pants, and the body in his lap starts grinding against the tops of his legs – against his own hand – as if he just can’t control himself. Steve pants roughly as he meets every kiss with the same conviction that Bucky has, feeling like a dam between them has just been obliterated. Bucky keeps releasing these throaty little moans into his mouth, like this is his absolute favourite thing in the world. Bucky feels so large and yet so _small_ in his hands. He’s a sick fuck for finding that so fucking erotic, but he wants him, _oh god, he wants him._

Bucky kisses him almost aggressively for a few more seconds before pulling away to make a grab at Steve’s shirts. Securing both of the hems in his hands, he tugs them up Steve’s stomach to signal what he wants. So Steve straightens a bit so he can yank both the cardigan and the t-shirt he’d been wearing underneath it off of him. He stares back up at Bucky’s face as he blindly tosses them off the couch; watching as Bucky’s own eyes drop to his bare torso. He feels a hand splay against the center of his chest and then shove him hard against the couch cushion so Bucky can get a better look at him.

Steve’s all hard muscle – and plenty _of_ it, at that – because he’s worked hard over the years to get the body he has now. No one ever guesses that about him though, given what he always wears at work. It’s a school environment, so he dresses accordingly. That’s why, over the years, he’s also gained a bit of a funny reputation for wearing various cardigans, sweater vests, and what the kids jokingly call ‘old man clothes’. Tony Stark, one of the science teachers, calls him ‘Senior Steve’ because of it.

So this is probably what Bucky was hopingfor but not expecting. What he was alsoclearly not expecting is the _other_ very convenient thing all of Steve’s long-sleeved shirts hide: his ink. A few lines of a quote beneath his clavicle, a tattoo for a late friend on his rib, and tattoos all down his inner arms and biceps. Bucky drinks in the sight of all of them and curses under his breath. It makes Steve feel far prouder than it should.

“Holy fuck, Steve… Like… Who the fuck _are_ you, even? Tattoos… Fuckin’ _abs_ … Am I gonna find piercings anywhere, too?”

Steve chuckles, breathy and antsy and nervous. “No, no piercings,” he replies.

Bucky’s running his hands all over Steve’s chest now. Steve’s eyes flutter back and close as he rests his head against the cushion with a sigh. He keeps tightening and relaxing his grip uncontrollably on Bucky’s hip.

“You look like you were carved straight out of a wet dream,” Bucky mumbles. “ _God_ , you’re fuckin’ hot. _God_ …”

His mouth is back on Steve’s, eager and greedy. Steve just lets his lips part; lets Bucky lick straight into his mouth and control things for a little bit. Now that Bucky’s hand isn’t in the way anymore, he grinds himself down over Steve so they’re touching just right. Bucky’s little whimpers are shaky. They taste as sweet as Bucky is; travel all the way down Steve’s body and make him feel like he’s pulsing all over the place. When he groans in response and begins to roll his hips up to meet Bucky’s, Bucky hisses between kisses, “ _You want me?_ ” and all he can do is pant back, “ _Yeah…_ ”

Bucky breaks the kiss to start trailing his lips noisily down Steve’s throat. Steve’s senses are in overload, so he can only arch his head back a little and groan again whenever Bucky gives his skin a little _nip._ He clutches him tighter, but also says quickly, “No marks, no marks… Can’t go into work with a hickey.”

“Mr. Serious,” Bucky teases with a small laugh; rubs his tongue over the last place he’d bitten. Steve sighs – that feels so nice – and replies, “I’m serious, it’d get me into deep shit. Not very professional…”

“Tell them your girlfriend gave it to ya,” Bucky murmurs, kissing across the base of his neck to coat the other side.

“ _Fuck…_ I don’t – yeah, no, I don’t have one…”

“Do they know that?”

“Uh… I don’t know…” He breathes out a chuckle of embarrassment. “M’having a hard time thinking at the moment…”

“What about down here?” Bucky asks, licking along the collar bone above Steve’s tattoo. “No risk of seein’ one here, right? As long as you keep wearin’ those grandpa shirts of yers…”

He pinches the thin skin there with his teeth and Steve gasps. He can _feel_ Bucky smirk against him; gives him a small, experimental suck. Steve licks his lips, eyes still closed, and then nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah, there’s fine.”

Bucky’s got a mouth like a goddamn _hoover_ on him. He brands Steve’s collar with the perfect balance of suction; that achingly perfect mixture between pleasure and pain. Within a minute, there’s a generous blotch of reddish-purple bruised onto the skin, but Bucky doesn’t stop there. He breathes haggardly through his nose while he adds another four, _five_ hickeys, spread out between both clavicles – and Steve’s practically writhing beneath him.

When he’s got his lips back up to Steve’s ears, Bucky whispers, purposely making himself sound as sweet and as _young_ as possible, “Can I suck your cock, sir?”

Steve’s mouth is still hung open, eyes narrowed and glassy, as he turns his face enough to meet Bucky’s gaze. The younger boy’s lips are swollen and a deep red, shiny from Bucky swiping his tongue over them, and this is _exactly_ like one of the things Steve fantasizes about… Bucky asking him that, looking at him the way he’s looking now… Except in those dirty fantasies, _Bucky_ was the doe-eyed one. In reality, that’s all Steve.

He nods.

“Yeah?” Bucky says, grinning excitedly.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers quickly. Bucky quickly climbs off of him so Steve can undo his pants. His hands are shaking, he’s so fucking horny, and it’s almost humiliating how quickly he’s trying to get himself undressed. He can hear Bucky chuckling, but then he shoves his jeans down to his knees, and Bucky isn’t laughing anymore when he gets his first good look at Steve’s cock.

Steve’s not _massive_ – he’s a little bigger than average – but he’s been told plenty in the past that he has a nice cock. There’s a natural little curve, it’s got a nice, sturdy thickness, and it’s cut. Bucky looks down at it like he’s just discovered the lost fucking city of Atlantis, before outright _moaning_ needily and bending down.

There’s literally _no_ preamble. Bucky just grabs the base of it and holds it straight so he can lick the flat of his tongue right up the side, then close his lips around the tip and suck straight down. It’s instant, maddening heat and slick. Bucky’s had to have done this before because he sucks cock like a fucking _master_ – and the thought makes Steve feel irrationally jealous and _that’s so fucked up_ , but it’s also dirty, and right now, the _wrongness_ of the whole thing is only making it hotter for them. Because Bucky was right… Fruit _does_ taste better when it’s forbidden. It’s human nature – that competitiveness engrained inside everyone – that makes a person always want what they’re told they’re not allowed to have.

Steve may not be breaking any laws by doing this, but he could still lose his job for it. It could still ruin his reputation. There’s a lot at stake, a lot that could go wrong if anyone were to find out. It’s so fucking _sneaky_ , and honestly, it’s the riskiest thing Steve can remember doing in years. And it’s awful, _he’s_ awful – _oh god, yes, Bucky’s so fucking good at this, oh_ – but this is exactly what he wants. What they both want.

With his hand resting gently on the back of Bucky’s head, he feels out the _up_ and _down_ movements as Bucky keeps his pace and gradually works to get more and more of Steve’s dick into his mouth. He watches the side of Bucky’s face, his cheek… Sees the outline of his cockhead every time it slides back along his student’s tongue and Bucky hollows his cheeks out so fucking perfectly… With the other hand, he rubs up and down Bucky’s bare back before snaking his fingers into the waistline of those black boxer-briefs.

Bucky’s ass is small to the touch but just as lean as the rest of him. Bucky groans enthusiastically around him when he feels Steve’s hand slide over his cheeks. At the same time, he rolls his tongue around the tip of Steve’s dick, eliciting a grunt from the blond and making him squeeze Bucky’s ass firmly. He’s never been intimate with a guy – _hell_ , he’s never even watched gay porn before, but Bucky’s ass feels so perfect and all he wants to do is stuff it with his fingers.

He kneads it for a while – as Bucky eventually relaxes himself enough to deep-throat Steve’s cock, leaving his mouth wet with spit – until Bucky’s cheeks must be _aching_. But the boy doesn’t stop pushing back against Steve’s hand the second he thinks Steve might stop. When curiosity gets the better of Steve, he slides his middle finger down the crease until he feels Bucky’s tiny little hole. He gives it a light _tap_ so Bucky knows what he’s after.

Bucky hums, nodding excitedly and letting Steve’s cock fall from his mouth. “Yeah, _please_ ,” he says, voice slightly hoarse. “You ever done that before?”

“Um… No, actually. Not really."

“Fingered a girl before, though, right?”

Steve’s face goes red; the hand that’d been on the back of Bucky’s head flies up to his face so he can cover it. “I’m _thirty_ , Bucky, what do _you_ think?” he says uncomfortably.

“Okay, well it’s basically the same sort of thing once you got them in there, you just gotta take it a bit slower,” Bucky replies, unphased. He leans over to fish for his skinny jeans. While he talks, his hand is shoving into his pockets as if searching for something. Suddenly, he pulls out a few small packets of lube. He tosses all but one onto the coffee table in front of them, then holds out the remaining packet for Steve to take.

“You’re gonna need plenty of this, though,” he explains, giving it a little shake.

“Please don’t tell me you carry those on you all the time,” Steve says, tone a little pleading. He doesn’t know if he can handle the idea of Bucky _always_ being this prepared… Every single time he’d sat in class and watched Steve with those impish grins and fuck-me eyes.

“Why? The idea of me with someone else make you jealous?” Bucky says, getting a playful grin.

 _Actually, Steve hadn’t even thought of that, but_ now _he fucking is._ It’s obvious that Bucky only said that to get some sort of reaction out of Steve. And though Steve’s not about to go and _tell_ him something like, ‘I don’t wanna see you with anyone else’ (because it’s none of Steve’s fucking business and he knows he doesn’t have that right), the jealousy that flashes throughout him must be evident in his eyes. It makes Bucky drop the act, leaning in and kissing Steve with a smile on his face.

“Relax, sir, m’just fuckin’ with you,” he murmurs. “I only brought it with me ‘cause I was hopin’ something like this might happen with you tonight.”

“I could’ve said no,” Steve tries to remind him. “What if I’d said no?”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder, but the evidence is right there – because when he kisses Steve again, Steve kisses right back, melting into it all over again. “Then I would’a dropped it and not made it so obvious anymore when I was checkin’ you out,” the brunet answers. “But I honestly would’ve been surprised… I could tell you wanted me, too.”

He beats his tongue to Steve’s for a few seconds; nips his bottom lip and then pulls back to place the packet of lube into Steve’s hand. “So what do you want _now?_ Hmm?”

“I…” Steve stares from Bucky’s mouth to the lube. “I wanna…”

“You wanna… finger me, maybe?”

Steve groans. “Yes, _fuck_ …”

“Mm, you’re so shy about this… You always like this, or is it just with me? I don’t mind, I think it’s cute. Definitely wouldn’t mind hearin’ some dirty talk outta that gorgeous mouth of yers, though.”

Steve looks back into his eyes and swallows hard. “I want you to suck my cock again while I see how many fingers I can put into you…”

Bucky’s mouth goes slack, smile vanishing completely again. Steve can hear the rush of air push out of his lungs, before Bucky exhales, “Yes, _fuck_ , _yes_.” He crushes their lips together again and then kisses back down Steve’s body feverishly until Bucky’s mouth is once again enveloping his erection. He sucks him quicker this time, his impatience apparent all over. Steve’s nose scrunches up at the sight, the _feeling_ of it, and it takes a moment for his brain to catch up to him.

Tearing open the pack of lube, Steve squeezes some onto two fingers and his thumb, quickly rubbing them together and spreading the slick. Bucky’s already reaching behind him and tugging down his underwear enough to reveal his sweet little ass. Steve palms the back of Bucky’s head with his clean hand again and lets his own tip back with a guttural moan; eyes rolling back into his head when Bucky suckles on the tip, twirls his tongue around it, and swallows it all the way back down in one try.

The fingers on his other hand feel for Bucky’s opening. The younger man jolts slightly when the cool lube touches his skin, pulling a chuckle out of him and an equally breathless one from Steve. “Sorry…” Steve says sheepishly, glancing back down. Bucky hums – _ah, god_ – and then tilts his face slightly so he can open his eyes and peer back up at Steve. He looks so fucking _obscene_ like this… staring at Steve from the corner of his eye, lids still half-closed, and lips stretched wide while Steve’s cock slides _in, out, further in, out_ …

His middle finger pushes against Bucky’s asshole. It twitches at his touch; makes Steve’s cock throb. It only takes a little coaxing to get it sliding in, and then only a _little_ more coaxing than that to gradually work it deeper inside until Bucky can take it to the second knuckle. Steve’s never felt anything quite like that – women are wetter, absolutely, but Bucky’s insides are just as hot around him. This fit is snugger, though… Like a glove; fucking feels as though it vapor locks around the shape of Steve’s digit, like Bucky’s body wants to mold around his so perfectly.

Steve doesn’t know how he’s supposed to get his whole dick in there without splitting Bucky in half, but they can deal with that when it happens.

 _Holy shit…_ It really hits him then. _This is going to happen_. He’s going to fuck Bucky Barnes – student, _his_ student… Teenager… Steve can’t think of those specifics for too long because it’s hard to feel _too_ much guilt when his dick is halfway down Bucky’s throat, and that’s reason enough to feel even _more_ guilt about it. But getting to fuck _Bucky_ , with none of the add-on information… _Holy fucking shit, please…_

Bucky can take more than one finger. In fact, he can take more than two. _And_ three. It’s been almost ten minutes, and all Steve’s been able to do is pant out groans and little _fuck_ ’s and listen to Bucky start fucking _whimpering_ whenever Steve does something he particularly likes. He’s finally establishing a pace with his fingers that falls into a nice tandem with the rhythm around his dick when he feels Bucky tapping his thigh with his right hand. When Steve re-opens his eyes to see what’s up, Bucky holds that hand up and wiggles his pinky finger.

“Really?” Steve asks between heavy breaths. “You sure?”

“Mhm, _mhm_ ,” Bucky starts humming back quickly, nodding as much as he can without disrupting the bobbing of his head.

 _Jesus fucking fuck…_ Steve finds that opened packet of lube again, with only a little left in it. Bending to the side as much as he can, he manages to use his pinky and his thumb to spread open Bucky’s cheeks. He groans – feeling the inside of Bucky and _seeing_ how his hole looks wrapped around three of his fingers are two completely different things. Combining the two together is pure perfection.

He drizzles the rest of the lube over that hole and his fingers, and then ditches the empty packet so he can keep Bucky spread with his dry hand. Like this, he can watch as he carefully works the tip of his pinky in there with the rest of his fingers. Steve’s never seen anything hotter. Bucky spasms and cries out softly. Steve pauses, worried that he did something wrong – maybe hurt him by accident. But Bucky just pulls back and Steve can hear him pant, “I’m fine, I’m fine… Just… _Ah…_ Feels good… Stay like that, right where you are… Think you can turn your wrist a little bit?”

Unsure of what he’s doing, Steve raises a curious eyebrow and slowly twists his fingers a little. Bucky moans and then glances back to him. Lifting his right hand so Steve can see, Bucky nods and then demonstrates what he means. He has his thumb curled against his palm and four fingers straight out like Steve does; palm towards the ceiling. Then he flips his hand over so his palm is facing downward. _Ohh…_ Steve nods, so Bucky trusts him to take over and goes back to sucking him off. Steve makes sure to be careful, slowly turning his hand over so he can finger Bucky with his palm facing downward, just like Bucky wants.

Bucky’s limits are definitely being a bit pushed with four fingers, but he doesn’t tell Steve to stop. Steve can feel the brunet’s body shaking and can see the sweat dotting along his spine and shoulders as the minutes pass and they continue like this. Steve can’t help it whenever he leans in and kisses Bucky’s hip, his ass cheek… Can’t help it when he bites it and tastes the salt of Bucky’s sweat… Only gets fueled by the impassioned, strained groans Bucky keeps giving him…

Bucky lifts that right hand back up for Steve to see, even though he doesn’t bother removing his mouth from Steve’s dick this time. He just trusts that Steve’s looking. With those four fingers sticking out, angled with his palm facing downward, Bucky curls all four fingers at the same time; keeps doing it, simulating what looks to Steve almost like a clawing motion(?). Nevertheless, if that’s what Bucky wants… Well, he certainly knows better than Steve, evidently.

Within Bucky’s body, Steve starts curling his fingers. It takes him a few tries to properly time the movements so he’s curling them every time he’s dragging them back out of Bucky’s body, but he’s a fast learner. Absentmindedly, he feels something brush against the tips of his fingers, and suddenly Bucky jolts and lets out this _wrecked,_ wheezy cry. It almost sounds _painful_ , it’s so vehement. Panicked, Steve goes to pull his fingers out, but then cries out himself when Bucky’s suddenly fucking his mouth over Steve’s dick even _faster…_ Keeps humming quickly, these desperate little mewls – _mhm, mhm, mhm…_

Spurring Steve to keep doing that. So he does, and because he’s a grown-ass man who knows human anatomy, realizes that he’s stroking over Bucky’s prostate. Sometimes, Bucky starts nearly _shrieking_ – the sound muffled around Steve’s cock – and it’s almost frightening how _good_ that seems to feel for him; like it’s so euphoric that if Steve does it too much without a break, it’s over-stimulating him. So Steve slowly learns what Bucky likes best and adjusts what he’s doing to conform to that.

What Bucky seems to like best is for Steve to tease his sweet spot until his thighs are trembling and he’s practically huffing air – _and cries_ – around the dick in his mouth, rather than actually sucking on it. Then Steve will back off for a short period of time and purposely avoid it, in order to give the younger boy the chance to calm down. Eventually, Bucky moans particularly sharply and then frees his mouth to chant anxiously, “Ah shit, Steve, _Steve_ , sir, m’gonna come, gonna come, _shit_ , _mmm_ …!”

Steve’s almost glad of it, because he was starting to feel way too close thanks to Bucky’s ministrations – and though he’s not worried that he wouldn’t be able to get it up for Bucky again (he’d just need a short bit of time), he didn’t want Bucky to feel obligated to have to swallow his load or anything. So he stills his hand – earning a confused sound from Bucky – and then asks, “You wanna… I mean, you wanna finish in my mouth or something?”

Bucky huffs out a laugh, mostly air. Pushing himself up, he glances back to Steve and _oh sweet, merciful Lord…_ His face has been sweating, too; face all flushed and shiny with perspiration. Lips, swollen to almost twice their usual size, and eyes, glazed over. He looks completely out of it when he grins and then replies, “You ever put your mouth on another dude before, Teach?”

“No,” Steve answers honestly. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Giving him a full-toothed grin, Bucky nods. “Yeah, okay, _yeah_.” He grunts as Steve retracts his fingers – _oh fuck, Bucky’s asshole looks so much looser now_ – and then quickly straightens and finds his footing on the floor. “How’s your gag reflex?” the brunet suddenly asks. Steve quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t answer, so Bucky clarifies, “M’way too close for pleasantries. If you’re puttin’ your lips on me, I’m fuckin’ your face. That gonna be a problem?”

“Got no gag reflex,” Steve says confidently. His eyes have already fallen to Bucky’s own erection. The skin’s a little darker than Steve’s own perpetually paler flesh, but _wow_ , Bucky’s not exactly small either. He’s still got his foreskin, from the looks of it; the tip all messy with precome.  “Fuck, your dick’s pretty…” he hears himself whisper in awe, before he even realizes he’s said that out loud.

Bucky laughs, but it’s still got that lustful edge to it, so Steve knows he didn’t just spoil the mood. He feels Bucky’s fingers thread into his hair - the tips scraping across his scalp – and Steve shivers. “Never had no one call it ‘pretty’ before,” Bucky admits. He steps closer and closer, making it known what he’s after. “Maybe it’ll look even prettier in your mouth, hmm?”

Steve licks his lips and then takes Bucky’s waist in his hands. He lets his jaw go slack as he leans in; waits until he feels the tip bump into his bottom lip - until he tastes that first bitter taste of precome on his tongue - to close his eyes and let Bucky push himself into his mouth. Right away, Steve’s divided on the whole thing – he doesn’t know for sure that he’d ever do this with any _other_ guy, but he’s alright with doing it for Bucky.

He’s too focused on trying not to be complete shit at this that he doesn’t bother opening his eyes when he hears the choked sound Bucky makes above him, like all the air’s just been punched out of his legs. He feels Bucky’s other hand press to his cheek and stroke his temple with his thumb. But then all too soon, that hand is fisting into Steve’s golden hair, too, and suddenly Bucky’s grunting, “ _F-Fuck_ ,” and keeping Steve still so he can start thrusting.

To Bucky’s credit, he doesn’t force the full length of his cock into the back of Steve’s throat every time – though it _does_ nudge against it with every few thrusts. Bucky’s pumping his hips, setting a fast and hasty rhythm right off the bat, because apparently he wasn’t kidding about being close. He’s gasping and moaning unabashedly, while Steve squeezes his eyes shut tighter and breathes brokenly through his nose. He feels a little like Bucky’s _whore_ right now, and he never would’ve guessed that he’d _like_ that so much. He has to squeeze the base of his cock to stop himself from losing it, _just_ from his mouth getting used like this.

Bucky’s moans turn into little shouts, until he’s throwing his head back and shoving as deep as he can go; reaching his peak, coming hot and full into Steve’s mouth. Steve’s a little thrown off by it, so he sputters at first, but then swallows it all down as quickly as he can. Figuring he can take back over now, he bobs his head shallowly – doesn’t suck, ‘cause he knows Bucky’s too sensitive for that right now, but just licks along his softening cock gently.

“ _Oh_ … fuck…” Bucky pants, catching his breath and sounding surprised. Then he starts laughing - pulling back so he falls from Steve’s lips - before guiding his teacher back against the cushions. “Still got some stamina left in ya, old man?” he asks playfully, shedding his underwear the rest of the way off before straddling Steve’s lap again. Steve cringes. Grimacing, he gives Bucky a weak look as all of his prior hesitancies flood back into his mind.

Bucky recognizes his error and immediately cups Steve’s face. “Hey,” he whispers, kissing him. “ _Hey_. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re thinkin’ too much again, stop.” Another kiss; Bucky whispers, “Stop, okay?” against his mouth. Steve doesn’t kiss back at first, still bothered and uneasy, but the longer he has Bucky’s lips against his, the greater his reservations fall.

Bucky presses their foreheads together. He opens his eyes and Steve does, too. “I told you I’m not gonna tell anybody,” Bucky promises him again. “And you’re _not_ doin’ anything wrong. We were put on this earth to fuck, to enjoy things like this… It ain’t nobody else’s business but ours.”

Steve smiles, but it’s a shoddy attempt – self-deprecating. “Anyone ever tell you you’re pretty wise for your age?”

Bucky’s smile is genuine. “Yeah, actually… Now, you gonna second-guess your way out of this, or are you gonna fuck me?”

There goes Steve’s dick, twitching again against his belly. Bucky glances down at it before kissing Steve’s jaw, stamping a pathway to his ear. “Can I ride you? I got a condom in my jeans, too…”

Steve pauses for only a moment, but then he nods because _yeah_ , he wants that just as badly as Bucky does. Bucky moves quickly, grabbing a new packet of lube as well as the condom. Scooching back enough so he can put it on Steve himself, he keeps his mouth attached to the blond’s while he strokes some slick over the latex wrapped around Steve’s erection. Bucky anchors his hands onto the back of the couch while Steve holds himself in position, and then Bucky starts to sink down onto him.

Their mouths drop open just a little bit more as they both exhale groans. Bucky seems to be staring at Steve’s shoulder, while Steve watches his face. The change in Bucky’s expression is instant and it’s _incredible_ – his stare goes completely unfocused, like he’s just zoned out at the flick of a switch while he takes in the stretch, the feel of Steve entering him and claiming that territory. Deep, almost _unprepared_ little moans slip out with every other breath. There’s the odd wince here and there, but he never stops himself until he’s fully taken Steve’s dick inside of him.

Bucky starts to ride him, and now _Steve’s_ the one who was unprepared. If the way his _fingers_ felt in Bucky’s ass was mind-blowing, there needs to be a new word invented to describe the sensation of having his cock up there. Is it like this with all guys - or is it just Bucky who seems to be perfection personified in every goddamn way? It absolutely _is_ the tightest squeeze Steve’s ever felt, and it makes his mind go blank.

All he feels, and all he hears, and all he knows is nothing but Bucky. There isn’t even any room anymore for the guilt he felt earlier. Bucky’s taken over it all. He keeps his hands on Bucky, wherever he can touch, while Bucky fucks himself on him; holds his thighs, or hugs him close, or grips one hand on the back of his neck. When he thinks Bucky’s no longer too sensitive, he jerks the brunet off, doing his best to match the strokes of his hand to the way Bucky rocks or bounces on him.

Mostly there’s just a lot of heavy breathing and the odd groan or uttered curse between them, but when Bucky moans, he _moans_. Loudly. And it makes Steve glad he opted for a house all those years ago and not an apartment like he’d originally planned. There’s also surprisingly a lot more eye contact than Steve could’ve ever imagined. Sometimes, it feels like he’s forgotten how to blink, as Bucky moves against him and swallows up Steve’s entire existence – staring right back, and Steve wishes he knew what Bucky was thinking.

They stay in that position for a while. Sometimes, Steve will switch things up a bit by catching Bucky’s hips when he’s rising back up so he can hold the younger boy still and start lifting his own hips off the couch, fucking up into him fast and deep. That gets Bucky white-knuckling the couch and arching his back, crying out with his grey eyes closed and a delirious smile on his beautiful face. Then Bucky’s grinding against him again; circling his hips and panting, “Finger me, too…”

Steve didn’t even know that was a thing. He’d never even fingered a chick before while in the middle of sex, but it’s like Bucky voices a desire and Steve is desperate to follow it and give him what he wants. So he brings his clean hand to Bucky’s lips, watches with wonder as the brunet sucks on his index and middle fingers, and then reaches behind Bucky. Feeling his cock moving in and out of him admittedly almost makes Steve lose it on the spot, but with a few deep breaths and begging Bucky to _slow down_ _for a sec_ , he wills it away.

You’d think Steve had just given Bucky the gift of goddamn fucking _ecstasy_ when he works first one and then both fingers into him. It’s a little bit of an awkward movement, because Steve’s never done this before, but once he gets the hang of sliding his fingers in and out in time with Bucky’s undulations over his cock, Steve wonders how he ever lived a day _without_ it. Now Bucky’s moaning a lot more frequently, and Steve can’t help that the sound keeps pulling similar moans from him, too.

“Can you fuck me?” Bucky eventually asks. His eyes are still squeezed shut and he doesn’t stop bouncing himself up and down, but he _does_ keep talking. “Like, _actually_ fuck me, I mean. Wanna… f-feel… _Ah!_ ” His back arches again, and he’s a fucking _masterpiece_ , this boy, _Jesus H. fuck_ … “Sir… _Sir_ … Wanna feel you give it to me… Oh, _please_ , I’ll be so good – I’ll take it as hard as you wanna give me, _ohhh…_ ”

Steve’s _way_ past the point of being shy anymore – the truth is, he’s got quite the mouth on him in bed, too. He just needs to let go first, is all. And he’d let go a _while_ back.

“You want me to fuck you?” he whispers back huskily.

“Yeah…”

“You gonna let me pound your cute little ass as hard as I want? Hmm?”

Bucky’s jaw drops even more, and his eyes open up just long enough to _immediately_ roll back and close again, as Steve keeps him still with bruising hands and slams up into him, taking back over. “Yes! Fuck, yes!” Bucky shouts. Steve pulls him in for a filthy kiss, all parted lips and clacking teeth and tongues battling it out with an almost bruising force. Then Steve gives Bucky’s ass a light slap and commands, “On the table.”

Bucky nods, only coherent enough at this point to process the instruction and follow the motions needed to obey it. Getting off of Steve’s lap, he spins around and lies belly-down on the coffee table. Steve gives himself a few rough jerks as he rises to his feet behind him. “Ass up,” he orders next. Bucky moans excitedly, resting his weight on his forearms and straightening his legs so he can lift his ass as high into the air as he can.

Steve splays his hand against the small of Bucky’s back as he guides his cock back to Bucky’s hole. The slide in is almost effortless, but Bucky makes it especially good for him by deliberately clenching his muscles. They both moan with relief once Steve’s sheathed within him again, and then Steve gets a good grip on Bucky’s hips and starts pounding into him.

The way Bucky was moaning before is _nothing_ compared to the sounds he’s making now. _This_ is clearly what Bucky gets off on: being drilled, nice and rough… Wanting to feel every inch of it so he’ll be sore with the reminder for the next _week_. Steve wants that. Right now, his only goal is to make sure that tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after _that_ , Bucky will be shifting uncomfortably in his seat so _every_ time he looks at his teacher, he’ll remember, _He was here, and he made me come so fucking hard._

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Steve says through gritted teeth. He’s still got his hand pressing down on Bucky’s back; baby blues going back and forth between staring at the way Bucky keeps turning his head from side to side, to where he’s keeping him all the way opened up.

“Pull my hair,” Bucky begs.

Steve snatches the tresses at the back of Bucky’s head in his hand and yanks it back. There’s a ragged gasp to match, ripped right from Bucky’s lungs. It makes him arch so fucking spectacularly in Steve’s grip. He keeps Bucky like that for a while, using that handful of hair to anchor himself and get even more leverage when pulling Bucky’s body against him to meet his brutal thrusts.

“You like that?” Steve pants.

“Yeah…”

“You been daydreaming about this every time you were in my class?” He lets go of Bucky’s hair to nudge the brunet’s legs together, making for even more friction when he takes his waist back in his hands. He abruptly slows down his speed, instead making each one punctuated – as deep as he can go into Bucky’s body, smacking his pelvis against his ass loudly and making Bucky howl happily. “This what you’d get yourself off to every night?”

“ _Oh god... Oh, fuck…_ ” Bucky’s moaning quietly to himself. His right hand is flying aimlessly around the table; sometimes gripping onto the edge and others, tightening into a fist so he can slam it against the surface whenever something feels especially amazing. Steve watches him nod again. “Yes… Yessir…”

“You ever think of me when you’re getting fucked by someone else?”

“Yeah… Yeah…”

Steve feels that jealousy from earlier flare up inside him again. To be fair, he _did_ open up that door by asking. The answer’s like a double-edged sword – on the one hand, the picture it draws in his mind of Bucky moaning and spread out like this for someone else makes Steve feel like seething, but on the other, if Bucky was always thinking of _him_ … Still, he continues; asks, “You wanna scream my name when other people fuck you?”

“Fuck! Oh, _fuck_ _yeah_ … Almost did once…” Bucky chuckles, but it turns straight into a cry when Steve groans at the confession and then slides all the way into him; hips pressed to his ass so Steve can simply rock from where he’s balls-deep inside. Steve can’t wrap his head around how perfect everything feels when he’s inside of Bucky like this. He lets himself get lost in it for about a half minute, and then pulls out completely. Bucky grunts, shooting him a curious look.

Steve tilts his face towards the couch. “You mind if you get back on that? I wanna be able to look at you – I mean, if you’re okay with that.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, getting that gorgeous smile again. It makes Steve’s stomach twist and his heart race, and _that’s probably just the endorphins and the chemical reactions talking_. Has to be. Bucky drops back onto the couch, and then lies down across it at Steve’s request. Steve gets on next, positioned between Bucky’s legs. He pushes back in and then leans down so he can kiss Bucky while he thrusts. He’s always liked kissing while having sex; it doesn’t have to be lovey-dovey romance, but he likes there to be _some_ intimacy, even if it’s just fleeting.

Bucky doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and holds him close, moaning softly into his mouth while they make out. Steve’s surprised when Bucky tells him that he wants Steve to finish in this position; that he doesn’t care how many more Steve wants to try, as long as Steve can fuck him just like this when he feels he’s close to his orgasm.

“I like to kiss when I come,” Bucky explains. Steve swallows hard – a nice, big gulp of air – and nods.

He likes this position for many reasons… Aside from being able to catch Bucky’s lips whenever he wants, he likes the way Bucky clings to him whenever Steve’s got his face buried against his neck. He likes that Bucky only needs to bring his lips to Steve’s ear to whisper what he wants – _Harder… Slower… Faster… Right there… Just like that, Steve_ – and he likes even more that whenever he hits Bucky’s prostate, the brunet’s hands fly to his ass to grip it tightly in gratitude.

Steve straightens so he can wrangle Bucky’s legs up, getting his calves swung over his arms so when he leans back down and kisses Bucky again, he’s slightly bent, ass lifted off the couch. It only takes him a few thrusts before Bucky’s suddenly gasping loudly and going rigid against him. Steve smirks. It doesn’t take some sort of seasoned butt-sex veteran to know that, logically, given where the prostate is located, this sort of position would guarantee that Steve could fuck right up against it with the proper angle.  

Every time his dick is buried back into Bucky, it’s hitting it. Bucky looks stunned. Steve _hopes_ he’s never had anyone do this to him before; fuck him this nicely, make him feel this good. He wants Bucky to remember this for the rest of his life, because he knows _he’s_ going to. Bucky’s gasping with every thrust, to crying out, to _screaming_. It’s fucking _music_ to Steve’s ears, and this is all he wants – to make Bucky feel like this. He wishes he never had to stop.

Bucky’s squirming beneath him; hands flying around again like they had been on the table. They thunk loudly off the couch whenever he tries to grab at it, or smack off of Steve’s skin when he’s suddenly latching onto him. Steve can’t stop staring down at his face, and Bucky doesn’t seem to know how to look away either. His grey eyes are wide, cheeks so fucking flushed, and he looks positively _enthralled_ with Steve.

Steve can feel the walls of Bucky’s ass start spasming around him… Little tremors that let him know he’s got Bucky on the ropes, he’s so close… Steve wants to drive him all the way to the finish line. Hot air washes over his face with every loud moan Bucky deafens him with, until suddenly he digs his fingers into Steve’s ass and grabs his bicep almost _frantically_ with the other.

“Oh god, sir, sir _,_ Steve _, m’gonna come_ , gonna come for you, _ohh shit_ ,” he’s whispering quickly, stringing everything together into practically its own _word._ “Oh god, _please_ , call me ‘little boy’.”

Steve can let that sink in later. He’s too far gone right now to care. He just wants Bucky to come, all around his cock and all over Bucky’s own stomach. So he pins the younger man’s head down to the cushion with a rough kiss, before touching their foreheads so he can stare back down into Bucky’s eyes.

“You gonna come for me, little boy?” he demands, voice low and guttural.

Bucky’s nose scrunches up. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t break his stare; just breathes back, “Yes, sir…”

“You gonna make a mess for me, little boy?”

“Yes, sir…”

“Come for me, Buck.”

“ _Oh_ … Sir…”

“Ah, _god_ … Bucky, come for me, baby…”

“Fuck… fuck, _Steve_ … Oh… _Ah! Oh my god!_ ”

Bucky seizes, digging his head back into the couch cushion and finally closing his eyes. He tightens all over – Steve’s never felt anything like it – and for a split second, his mouth drops but he makes no sound. Then suddenly Steve can feel a streak of come hit his stomach, and Bucky’s pumping his load all over them, and _then_ an elated, blissful cry pushes out of the boy. He starts shaking all over while he rides it out. Tilting his chin down, he pulls Steve in for that kiss he promised, at about the exact same time that Steve was already leaning in for one anyways.

Their lips meet and Bucky whines breathlessly against his mouth. It doesn’t take much longer than that, really, before Steve’s whimpering quietly into Bucky’s mouth while their tongues are pressed together – then he’s filling that condom right up, climaxing harder than he can remember doing in a _long_ time. He groans, and the realization that Steve’s coming just makes Bucky kiss him with more fervor. Steve whimpers again helplessly; whimpers “ _Bucky_ ” between kisses, and Bucky just sighs out a soft moan and sucks Steve’s bottom lip into his mouth so he can bite on it.

For all of his daily workouts, Steve feels like he just ran a ten-hour marathon the moment his orgasm subsides. His body feels so boneless that he can do little more than slump against Bucky while he tries to catch his breath. Bucky cradles Steve to him, and even encourages him to pull out after a minute or two, so Steve can rest his head on his chest and be more comfortable. Steve doesn’t even care that he’s pressing himself right into the mess of come coating Bucky’s stomach. It feels _nice_ with him, like this…

The minutes pass, and they both come down from their highs. Steve stares ahead, sobering up with every passing second, as the reality of what just happened dawns on him. Somewhere in Bucky, he can feel that subtle shift, too. But Bucky doesn’t stop petting his fingers through Steve’s hair, and Steve doesn’t stop enjoying the way it makes him feel. It’s relaxing.

He breaks the silence first, after almost twenty minutes of neither of them saying anything. His voice is soft, quiet… An honest confession.

“I don’t know what this is…”

There’s a pause, and then Bucky replies just as softly, “Me neither…”

Steve keeps staring ahead, thinking. There are a million ways he can handle this situation, but right now, all he feels is peaceful. The whole situation had made him so anxious before, but once he’d let Bucky in, Bucky did nothing but soothe him.

“I like it, though,” he admits.

He can hear the smile in Bucky’s voice when he replies, “So do I.”

 _But it’s still wrong_ … He doesn’t say this out loud, but it hangs in the air around them regardless. Then it’s Bucky who breaks the silence this time.

“You’re gonna tell me that we can never do this again, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Steve answers honestly.

“Can ya do me a favour?” Bucky asks. Steve hums and turns his head so he can rest his chin on the brunet’s chest, looking up at his face. Bucky gives him that reassuring smile. “Think on it first? Don’t make any rash decision until you’ve considered all your options? ‘Cause… I mean, I had fun. I liked this, and I know you did, too.”

“I did,” Steve agrees quietly.

“All the more reason not to put a stop to it if you don’t have to. Just… tell me you’ll think about it, ‘kay?”

Steve takes a deep breath, chewing on the inside of his cheek before giving the tiniest of nods. “Okay.”

“Good. Is it cool with you if I take a tiny nap here before I head out? You sorta wore me out,” Bucky says, smile turning into a toothy grin.

Steve smiles back. “That’s what you get for calling me an old man.”

“Well, then I gotta call you that more often.”

Steve’s smile wavers, but he forces himself to keep it as he gently encourages the brunet, “Close your eyes, Buck. I’ll wake you up in an hour.”

He goes to get off of him when he feels Bucky tighten his arms around him and keep him where he is. “Stay; don’t gotta run for cover the second the fun part’s done,” he jokes, eyes already closed. He really _does_ sound exhausted.

“I’m gonna crush you,” Steve says.

Bucky shakes his head lazily. “Mm-mm, you’re fine. You’re cozy. Just close your eyes with me… for a few minutes? The world will still be there when we’re done… You need to learn how to relax…”

He’s already slipping into sleep. Steve tries not to disturb him as he reaches across the back of the couch blindly, until his fingers find the blanket he always keeps there. Slipping it down, he shakes it out and then manoeuvers it over top of them. Steve watches Bucky’s face for a few moments before – _he can’t help it_ – giving his neck a little kiss. Bucky smiles.

“Mr. Serious…” he murmurs sluggishly.

“Shh, Buck… Go to sleep…” Steve turns his face to the side again and rests his head on Bucky’s chest. He knows Bucky just wants Steve to shut off his brain for a little while longer, but he’s already thinking of everything and he can’t help it. He thinks about cleaning them up once he gets Bucky up in an hour… He thinks about how empty his bed’s going to suddenly seem tonight when he imagines how it’d feel to have Bucky in it with him… He’s going to chastise himself and go _back and forth_ between questioning what he just did; accepting it without remorse to beating himself over it, and then repeating the process all over again… He wonders how he’s supposed to face Bucky in class tomorrow...

The conclusion he draws is that he has absolutely no idea what to do now. _And_ he’s gotten himself into a real fucking complicated situation.

Maybe the best solution, _for the time being_ , is to do what he told Bucky he’d do and give himself time to think about it… Not make any abrupt decisions before knowing anything for sure…

Sighing, he closes his eyes, wishing that sleep could come to him as easily as it did for Bucky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to put an end to whatever the hell it is he and Bucky have, before it gets any worse.
> 
> Bucky, of course, has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PART 2 (due to popular request)**
> 
> So, unlike with the Buck Me series, I've decided to add any future installments to this series within the actual story. However, because I have zero idea how many there will ultimately be in this universe, and I'm playing it by ear based off of readers' reactions, I'm not specifying how many chapters there will be. For all we know, this could be the last one :P haha
> 
> Anyways, you know the drill - be mindful of the tags, and heed the Underage warning. If it upsets or offends you, don't read. If you still choose to read, don't bother to comment and complain. (Seriously, why waste your time reading something that upsets you anyways? lol) 
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/) is basically a place for Stucky, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Marvel, smut, or inappropriate humour - so if you feel like coming and hanging out with me, please do <3
> 
> **P.S. I am currently no longer taking prompts for the time being, due to an overwhelming number of them already, as well as me wanting to start focusing more on chaptered, more fleshed-out stories again. If you have a prompt you'd really like to give me, feel free to come message me on my Tumblr. But just know that I can't promise that I'll take it at the moment. Thank you!**

“An apple?” Steve asks with surprise. Class is about to begin, and he hadn’t expected it when Bucky slipped into the class amidst the sea of students, only to approach his desk with the shiny red fruit in hand. When was the last time someone even did that anyways - the nineteen-sixties?

It’d actually be a sweet sort of gesture if not for the fact that it’s coming from _Bucky_. And when Bucky does something – _anything_ that involves Steve – he’s made it more than clear that his motivation is less than noble. So Steve eyes the fruit carefully, and then raises a brow as his baby blues drag up to Bucky’s face, looking for some sort of clue.

But Bucky isn’t adorning his usual seductive manner. He’s not smirking, nor do his eyes have that usual gleam of mischief in them. In fact, he looks perfectly reserved. The night before and they’d been wrapped in each other’s arms… Steve had made Bucky scream and come all over their bodies. Bucky had begged Steve to call him ‘little boy’ for fuck’s sake, and Steve had obliged. He hadn’t been able to sleep a wink while he’d had his head resting on the boy’s chest, but Bucky slept soundlessly until Steve had woken him up an hour later, just like he said he would.

Steve had thought things would be awkward; would Bucky wake up regretting his decision? And yet the brunet had just sleepily pulled his teacher in for a lazy kiss, before getting himself up and cleaning off his climax-covered skin. It was less than twenty minutes from the time he woke up to him getting re-dressed and heading out for the night. Bucky certainly wasn’t making things uncomfortable between them – he was actually perfectly normal – but Steve moved like he had two left feet, everything he did seeming unsure and stiff as hell.

All the same, he’d anticipated that Bucky would try to go in for one last kiss before he opened the front door to leave, and he hadn’t been wrong. It was chaste; Steve tried to only kiss back so much. Bucky didn’t seem discouraged or overly deterred by it. He simply smirked at Steve, murmured, “G’night, Teach,” and then he was gone.

Steve slept for maybe two hours that night, and when he did, all he could dream about was Bucky. It hardly made things any less confusing for him.

So this is the first time he’s back to interacting with Bucky in their regular setting – the _teacher-student environment_ that puts so many hard limits around what they’d just done the night before. Steve had walked into the school that morning feeling paranoid that his colleagues would take one look at him and figure everything out. But of course, no one did. The only comment he received was from Sam Wilson, the P.E. teacher (and Steve’s friend).

“Whoah, easy there, sport,” he’d said, watching Steve down his second cup of coffee in a row. “You know, too much caffeine _is_ bad for you.”

“Didn’t sleep all that well last night,” Steve had told him. Not a lie, at least he could hold onto that much. It just wasn’t the full truth.

“Plying yourself on coffee isn’t gonna feel like the best decision once you crash by lunch,” Sam replied with an amused smile.

Steve just shrugged distractedly and put his cup into the sink to rinse it out. “Then I’ll make myself another one,” he'd joked. Although truth be told, Sam had been absolutely right - because by the time his afternoon class with Bucky actually  _arrives_ , he’s an anxious mixture of being exhausted and over-caffeinated.

To top it all off, he has that fucking hickey he’d been stupid enough to let Bucky give him – right there on his collar bone. His cardigan today hides it well, just like he knew it would, but he’s hyper aware of it. It’s a little sensitive, but the second he’d seen Bucky walk into the classroom, it felt like it was burning. _God_ , what they’d done had been so wrong… Yet the idea that he’d had that sinful mouth latched to his skin and sucking his own branding onto it like Bucky was making Steve his fucking property made Steve’s head feel dizzy with endorphins.

The problem is, it _still_ does.

So many things can go wrong. If, for whatever reason, Bucky doesn’t keep a lid on this, another student could grow suspicious. All it’d take would be one kid seeing the way Bucky stares at him, then going to the Principal and saying something about it. Or what if Bucky tries to initiate something at the actual school now? He’s already succeeded in breaking Steve down in his own home – what if that’s not enough for him and he wants more? The worst part is, Steve needs to only picture something like that in detail for a _second_ , and he’s right back to being as hot and bothered as he’d been when Bucky started to dance for him in his living room.

Because things are _so_ much fucking worse now – namely, because Steve knows what the inside of Bucky’s body feels like… How hot and tight he is… How gorgeous his face had looked, or how intoxicating his voice had sounded. It’s not just a fantasy created from guessing anymore, it’s reality. And reality had proven to be _so_ much fucking better around Steve’s dick.

Needless to say, for all of his anxiety over the matter, he’s really fucking relieved to see that Bucky’s face right now looks unassuming. Definitely not predatory. He’s actually sort of looking at Steve like any _normal_ student would be looking at their professor. _Good_ , _okay -_  Steve can work with this, definitely.

“What’s the occasion?” Steve asks. From behind Bucky, more students continue to make their way into the room, talking amongst themselves. No one’s paying attention to the two of them. Steve keeps track of the time, noting to himself that he needs to get class going in about three minutes.

Bucky shrugs, adjusting the strap of his backpack hanging from one shoulder. “I dunno,” he answers. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away? Or, like, it’ll give me an A? Or… Whatever, I just heard it somewhere. Figured you might want one.”

Steve gives him a friendly smile, accepting the little gift and feeling a bit touched that Bucky would do anything like that _at all_. Leaning back into his chair, he takes a bite of it and then says lightheartedly, “Well, thanks, Bucky. That was nice of you. Mind you, I hope you don’t think bringing me an apple is going to guarantee you pass this class. I meant what I said yesterday. Only you--”

“Can prevent forest fires?” Bucky cuts in with a tiny, adorable smile.

Steve chuckles quietly. “Well, that too. But more importantly, only you can ensure that you bring your grade up. I know you can do it, Buck.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Bucky says. His tone is still innocent; words not said in any sort of suggestive way, so Steve sees the coast as being clear on that front. Bucky asks, “Maybe once class is done? I thought about what you said, about gettin’ a tutor? I’d like to discuss that.”

Steve smiles, surprised. “Yeah, absolutely. Just hang back once class is over and then we can have a chat, alright?”

“Okay.” Bucky seems to pick up on the fact that class is about to start, so he turns to head over to his desk. However, he’s only _just_ spun around when he’s immediately turning right back, saying, “Oh, right, before I forget…” Coming around Steve’s desk, he swings his bag off his shoulder and then drops down to a knee so he can zip it open and rummage through his binder. Like this, he’s now mostly shielded behind the table.

“What’re you doing?” Steve asks.

“I forgot to give you my test yesterday,” Bucky explains, still roaming his gaze through the mess in his bag. “I _did_ actually get it signed for you, so I didn’t wanna forget again.”

Steve had felt a little nervous there for a second. Hearing this makes him ease up a bit, breathing out a small sigh of relief. He’d actually completely spaced on that, too, so it’s a good thing _one_ of them remembered. “Right,” he replies. “Thank you, Bucky. I appreciate you being on top of that.”

At that, Bucky pauses for a moment, eyes rising and staring ahead, like Steve’s words just sparked an image to mind. Steve’s not an idiot; he doesn’t need to ask _what_ image. It’s not exactly like he’s been having a difficult time remembering the way Bucky had looked in his lap either. But now is not the time – in fact, he still has a lot of thinking to do, so in reality, _no_ time might be the ‘right’ time. Steve frowns, averting his eyes and taking another bite of the apple he’d been given to distract himself while Bucky locates his test.

“Ah, here it is,” he hears the boy say to himself. From his peripherals, he sees Bucky hold it up for him to take. Steve glances down at him, mumbling his thanks (still trying for things to stay as casual and appropriate as they have thus far) and reaching to take it from him.

But when he pinches the paper between his fingers and tries to pull it away, Bucky doesn’t let go. Steve’s eyes go from the test to Bucky, and that’s his mistake _._ Because Bucky _knows_ he’s pretty well shielded by Steve’s desk – what with how low he’d purposely crouched – and he seems to be aware that no one else is looking their way, either.

Also because, when Steve looks down to Bucky, Bucky’s staring _up_ at him with all that fire back in his eyes; head tipped down so he can peer up at Steve through his lashes. His lips are slightly parted and his pupils are dilated ( _“How about mine? How big are my pupils?”_ ), and if looks could talk, Bucky’s would be begging Steve to split him open this very second.

Beneath the desk, Steve’s cock is instantly hardening; his chest, flushing and getting hot beneath his shirt at the sight of Bucky before him like this. He’s had _way_ too many fantasies revolving around Bucky just like that, only between his legs; sucking Steve to climax while his other students were totally oblivious. Jesus Christ, that’s a messed up thing to get off on. But given that he’s already pretty much spit all over thatprotocol by actually _fucking_ his student, there’s not much lower he can sink, now is there?

“Buck,” he says under his breath warningly.

“Don’t matter how many apples I ate this mornin’,” Bucky replies quickly. “Can still taste you on my tongue.” His own voice is mostly a husk; so quiet that Steve barely hears half of what he’s saying. The only reason he understands at all is because the second Bucky starts speaking, his lips are precisely where Steve’s eyes go to.

Steve quickly looks to the rest of the class. Thank god they’re all too absorbed in their little cliques to pay the front of the room much attention, but they are cutting this _way_ too close. “Bucky, get up,” he hisses.

Bucky does nothing but hold Steve’s gaze for a couple seconds. Then he mumbles _just_ for Steve’s ears, “Movin’ hurts today, sir. You got no idea how sore my ass is.”

Steve’s face feels hot now, too. He’s achingly hard in his pants, and this is so fucking bad. He’s going to be in so much trouble if he doesn’t get a grip on the situation and soon. Using a bit more force, he subtly yanks the test from Bucky and then says sternly, “Get _up_. Now.”

Incredibly, that makes Bucky move. With a tiny smirk, Bucky rises back up casually – and thanks to the baggy plaid button-up he’s wearing, his crotch is perfectly covered. If he’s as rock hard as Steve is, no one else will be able to tell. Steve wishes he could say the same fucking thing; _his_ shirts are tucked into his fucking waistline. Of all the days to actually regret dressing like an ‘old man’.

Bucky keeps standing there with that smug little smirk on his gorgeous fucking face. Steve would glare at him if it wouldn’t be inappropriate for a teacher to do that with his student. The most he can get away with is a reproachful, annoyed look. Voice still stern, he tilts his head in the direction of Bucky’s seat and orders, trying to stay calm, “Sit down. And pay attention.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” Bucky answers obediently. His expression is one-hundred percent innocent again. Honestly, this kid drives Steve up the wall about as much as he gets under Steve’s skin until he feels like it’s crawling. This kid is the King of mind games, and Steve’s downfall is that he’s such a fucking sucker for them. Because honestly, he’s a grown man. It takes two to tango, as the old saying goes. Bucky’s ploys only work so long as Steve’s susceptible to them – and _fuck him_ , is he ever fucking susceptible.

He watches Bucky turn around and go, like nothing at all just happened. The boy is instantly striking up conversation with his friends sitting around him, but Steve doesn’t miss the way that when his rear makes contact with the hard chair, Bucky shifts a bit uncomfortably. He could just be doing that because he feels Steve watching. But Steve knows how hard he gave it to him – _he couldn’t forget if he tried_ – so chances are, he really is in a bit of pain. He hates himself inside for just how much he _loves_ that. Steve’s got his little reminder hidden under his collar, while Bucky has to sit on his all fucking day.

Unfortunately for Steve, that sense of pride is only so great, because he’s still got the issue of having a bit of a boner right now. If he were to stand up, it’d be obvious. Feeling a little panicked, he shoves Bucky’s signed test into his own bag while he desperately goes through a mental list of less-than-sexy things to calm down the stirring in his body. Biding himself a bit of extra time, when he finally addresses the class, he starts by getting everyone to go around the room and one-by-one summarize what they felt was the most important piece of information they learned the day before.

To be honest, Steve isn’t even listening to their answers. He’s just looking and occasionally nodding, but really, he’s just doing whatever he can to avoid thinking of how Bucky had looked pinned against his coffee table… Or nearly bent in half beneath him on the couch… He _certainly_ has to focus extra hard on thinking about things like baseball when it’s actually Bucky’s turn. He likewise provides a bullshit answer to the bullshit question, but his lips start moving, and that always gets Steve picturing the worst sorts of things.

He doesn’t think it’s all in his head that Bucky totally fucking knows that, too, so he’ll casually swipe his tongue across his lips whenever he pauses – just to fuck with his teacher.

By a goddamn act of god, Steve’s softened enough by the time the last student speaks to be able to stand and start on the actual lesson for the afternoon. Despite how hard he tries to avoid Bucky’s gaze – like always – he feels it on him the _entire_ time. He also keeps catching Bucky squirming in his seat, sometimes looking genuinely uncomfortable. Yet the odd time that their eyes will briefly lock, Bucky will just smirk and push the tip of his pen deeper between his lips – and Steve practically forgets what he’s saying, always having to avert his eyes and clear his throat again before picking up where he left off.

It was a stupid thing to think, that Bucky would have mercy on him while Steve tried to figure things out in his head. It goes both ways, after all – Steve now knows what the inside of Bucky’s body feels like, but _Bucky_ likewise knows what Steve can do with his, too. _Ah, fuck._ Steve might’ve underestimated how completely screwed he is now.

He’s glad that Bucky wanted to talk about the tutor situation after class is over, because Steve thinks there are a few things he needs to tell him, too.

* * *

It’s harder than Steve anticipates to have to tell Bucky that what’d happened between them was a one-time thing. Honestly, perhaps he _could_ give it some more thought, sure. But Bucky’s little stunt at the beginning of class was a splash of cold water in Steve’s face – a wake-up call to just how serious what they’d done was, and just how much trouble he would undoubtedly get into if they were caught. 

Yet, all the same, actually saying the words proves to be difficult for him. It almost leaves Steve feeling like his favourite toy’s just been taken right out of his hands, and all he can do is watch. Not to say that that’s all Bucky was… _is_ to him. More like, he’s something Steve never realized he wanted so badly until it all came crashing down on him, and suddenly he needed to give it up. But it’s the right thing to do. At least, that’s what he’s trying to tell himself.

Bucky doesn’t hide his disappointment. They’re alone in the classroom, the door shut to give them some privacy, and he’d listened to Steve say his piece in silence. By the time Steve finally got out the words, “I just can’t, Buck. I’m putting a stop to this before it gets any worse,” that little smirk on Bucky’s face had faded away into a frown. Still sitting there, he almost looks _hurt_ now, which only makes Steve feel worse.

“You said you were gonna think about it,” Bucky mumbles quietly, sounding uncharacteristically vulnerable.

Steve sighs. “And I _did_ – all of last night, and today. I--”

“That’s hardly 'thinkin'' about it. I know what you’re doin’,” Bucky interrupts. “You’re freakin’ yourself out and acting impulsively. I _knew_ you were gonna do that.”

Steve wishes he could take back everything he said, if only so Bucky wouldn’t have that look on his face that he has right now. But it’s too late for that, and _you’re doing the right thing, stay strong._ “I’m sorry,” he says with earnest. “I know you may not believe me, but it’s really not you, it’s--”

“Seriously?” Bucky cuts in again flatly. Scoffing, he looks away, shaking his head. He mutters, “I’m seventeen, m’not five. We’re not in a nineties rom-com; no fuckin’ need to use the whole, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ line.”

“I’m just being honest with you,” Steve says, sighing as his shoulders sag. Since it’s just the two of them, he figures he’s got nothing to lose by being truthful, if it’ll help make Bucky feel any better. “It really _isn’t_ about you. I just have too much on the line if anyone found out. I’d lose my job over this, Buck. Then you think any other school in the State is gonna wanna hire me? Word travels like wild fire; that’s why it’s so toxic. I’d be lucky if I’d ever be able to teach kids again at all.”

“I told you I wasn’t gonna tell anybody,” Bucky argues, voice still quiet.

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” Steve says. That makes Bucky look to him with mild surprise, as if he hadn’t even considered that as an option. Frowning to himself, Steve clarifies, “But, I mean… ‘Kay, you on your knees in front of my desk earlier? _Saying_ what you said – _looking_ at me the way you were? If even one of your classmates had seen that, they could’ve gone to Principal Phillips, and it would’ve all been over for me.”

Bucky says nothing at first, but then he gives a small nod, dropping his eyes. He looks troubled. “M’sorry,” he eventually says. “You’re right, that was too far. I got carried away. I promise I’ll cut that sort of stuff out from now on,” he promises, meeting Steve’s eyes again.

Jesus Christ, Steve isn’t sure if this is reverse psychology or not, but it sure as hell _feels_ like it. Or maybe it’s sort of like that toy analogy again – only this time, the one where you only want the toy _more_ once you no longer have it. What had Steve expected? Bucky had put up a bit of a fight at first, but now he seems to be resigning himself to Steve’s decision, and it’s leaving Steve feeling… disappointed? Even _more_ like he wants to change his mind? It’s not like he wants Bucky to pine after him forever, because that wouldn’t be fair. But Steve’s only making this choice because he has to. Despite how much this is conflicting with his morals, deep down, he knows it’s not because he _wants_ to.

He’s reminded of what he’d tried to tell himself before any of this actually happened – about these sorts of things being passing fads for teenagers; how he was just one of a million phases Bucky would go through in his path to adulthood. How soon after this will it take before Bucky’s moved on, and Steve will pass him in the halls, only to see him cuddling up to someone ( _better suited for him_ ) his own age? What the fuck is wrong with Steve that picturing that makes him feel _so_ much fucking jealousy?

For god’s sake, he was supposed to have outgrown this shit. He’s a grown man; he’s not supposed to feel this sort of stuff anymore. Maybe he’s been hanging around teenagers for too long – and that’s hardly a comforting thought. Literally nothing he’s been thinking lately has made him feel any less fucked up.

None of these are things he can express to Bucky, though. Like everything else, it wouldn’t be right. So he just gives him a tense smile that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes, and replies, “I appreciate that, Bucky. And _I’m_ sorry if you felt at any point like I might’ve… abused my power or something. Took advantage of you…”

Bucky waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t even bother with that,” he says. “I’m the one who came onto you; I knew what I was doin’.”

Things become silent between them, and Steve isn’t sure what to say. They’d actually started the conversation with him diving head-first into that, so he’s forgotten the real reason they were even having this discussion in the first place. Then it comes back to him, so he clears his throat and straightens back a bit, unclasping his hands. “So, um… About the tutors…”

“Right, that,” Bucky says quietly. He still looks disappointed, but after taking a deep breath, he lets out the air in his lungs and then – probably for Steve’s sake – forces his usual, happy smile back to his face. Sounding a bit tired, though, he says, “Given what we just talked about, there’s no real way I can say this without you thinkin’ I’m askin’ for the wrong reasons.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, his brows furrowing. “What is it?”

“Well… I meant it when I told you that I don’t work well with people I don’t know,” Bucky tells him. “I legit wanted to ask if _you’d_ be willin’ to tutor me after school sometime.”

Steve sighs, closing his eyes. “Bucky…”

“I know, I know. That’s why I just said… Look, if you don’t wanna do it, m’not an idiot; I’ll understand why. I just figured there was no harm in askin’.”

Steve studies his face carefully, tapping his foot off the ground. This is probably another one of those things he should say no to. He just put an end to their… _whatever_ the fuck it was called between them. _One-night stand?_ That didn’t seem accurate; whatever it was, it felt like more than that.

Yet, that’s a crazy thing to even entertain, since there really isn’t more to it than that. All they did was fuck, and that desire originated from lust - which isn’t backed up by actual feelings. Steve’s thirteen years older than him; there’s absolutely no way real feelings could ever be involved, especially so quickly. And besides, when he looks back to the relationships he’d had in high school, none of them were ever real love. Sure, at the _time_ , he thought they were. But they weren’t – it’s not like teenagers don’t have the capacity to feel true feelings like that, but by adulthood, Steve had developed the belief that teenagers can’t even begin to understand what it takes to sustain a real, _adult_ relationship.

Either way, despite not knowing how to define it, he’d just put a stop to it, so opening up another door to them spending some more one-on-one time together would only lead to trouble… Right? Well, unless Steve made a point to put his foot down and be the responsible one this time, ensuring that absolutely nothing of the sort happened again. Maybe Bucky would make good on his word and not try anything else with him. Once again, Steve has to keep reminding himself that _that’s the right thing;_  to _not_ feel so much disappointment about it.

He’s still Bucky’s teacher. Regardless of the mistake they’d made, Steve can’t run way from his professional obligations for personal reasons like that. If Bucky’s serious about getting assistance in order to pass the course, and he truly feels he’d learn best with Steve helping him, then it’d be wrong for him to turn Bucky down, wouldn’t it?

“If I agree to this, we’re _only_ focusing on the work,” he insists, his resolve breaking.

Bucky grins – a genuine one that makes Steve’s stomach flop; his heart almost feeling like it twists from how much he likes seeing this kid happy… Even if something in that twisting gut of his is still telling him that this is a bad idea.

“Only the work,” Bucky says, nodding.

“Nothing more,” Steve continues, completely serious.

Bucky raises his hands in a surrendering gesture. “Hey, cross my heart,” he promises, feigning sweetness. “I promise I won’t try touchin’ ya.”

That makes Steve feel a little better.

In reality, he should’ve caught on far quicker to the fact that Bucky had been choosing his words _very_ deliberately.

* * *

A few days later, they arrange to have Bucky’s first lesson. Trying to play things safe, Steve suggests they meet at a mutual location; somewhere public, and he doesn’t have to say why for Bucky to understand. But a coffee shop turns out to be hardly conducive to teaching Bucky _anything_. 

This kid seems to be friends with literally everyone. He spends so much time getting distracted with saying hi to someone and striking up a conversation that they’re lucky to get two pages into the textbook. Steve spends most of his time there trying (and failing) to get Bucky back on track, only to sigh his name and throw his hands in the air when he immediately loses the boy’s attention less than a minute later.

“Sorry,” Bucky keeps saying, though he hardly looks apologetic. “Can’t concentrate with all these people around. Hey, Rumlow, what’s up man!”

And then he’s lost in conversation again.

The next day, Bucky approaches him after school to properly apologize for wasting Steve’s time the day before. Steve had been fully prepared to keep his foot firmly pressed to the proverbial floor and not offer his services a second time, but fuck him up the goddamn _ass_ if he can take one look at Bucky’s face and refuse him that easily. Bucky promises to put in the proper effort if they can just find a place that’s quieter this time. So Steve suggests that they meet at the library; Steve just needs to run home first to grab himself a quick bite to eat.

He seems to be doing nothing but making mistake after mistake lately, and this time, his error is that he should’ve just gone hungry and went straight to the library with Bucky. Instead, he’s in the middle of cleaning up his plate in the sink when his doorbell rings. He should hardly be surprised when he opens the door to see Bucky standing there, and yet he still is for some reason. _Are you_ ever _going to fucking learn?_ he mentally berates himself. The answer to that is probably no, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s like he’s never even heard of common sense the second he’s around Bucky Barnes.

“I thought I told you I’d meet you at the library?” he asks with exasperation. This time, he keeps his hand on the door, as a sort of barrier between Bucky and his house.

The brunet just explains quickly, “Yeah, I know, I went there to wait for you. You got any idea how packed the library gets around this time of the semester? We all got papers and projects and shit. I couldn’t find a table that didn’t have some group project goin’ on close by – there was too much talkin’.”

Steve narrows his eyes at him, hardly convinced. “So you’re telling me that if I drove over to the library myself, it’d be as busy as you say it is.”

Bucky pauses and then gives another one-shoulder shrug. “Could’ve quieted down a _little_ , I suppose. C’mon, Teach, I’m already here, can’t we just get this over with at your place?”

No, they absolutely cannot. Having Bucky back in his home is nothing but a reminder of the _last_ time he’d been there. If Steve were to tutor him at his house, it’d undoubtedly be in the dining room… Where he could just glance over and see the couch, and then all he’d be capable of doing would be remembering the two of them actually on it. He’s hesitating for a moment too long, though, which gives Bucky the perfect opportunity to add, “I already told you I wouldn’t try to touch ya. If you’re worried you’ll just get a repeat of last time, m’serious, you don’t gotta. I’m really just here to learn, sir.”

Uggghhhhh, _crap._ Talk about tugging at all the right strings. Somewhere in the very back of his mind, Steve knowsthat this is still a trap. Bucky’s good, but he’s not unreadable – not after everything Steve’s seen. You take apart a person and practically see how their heart beats from the inside, and suddenly their tells are a lot easier to pick up on. So even though Bucky’s playing the innocent card again, there’s a tiny sliver of Steve that knows better. He tells himself that it’s for moral reason – the genuine desire to help – that he winds up stepping aside with a sigh and letting Bucky back into his house.

But the truth is, it might just be possible that there’s a part of him that is curious to see where this will take them… That immoral, dirty part of him that’s using Bucky’s insistence as an excuse to justify _him_ wanting it just as much.

This isn’t a thought he outright has when letting him inside, though. At the moment, he isn’t sure why he actually concedes and lets Bucky in. He just keeps trying to convince himself that he can keep control over the situation; keeps repeating that mantra, _Do the right thing, do the right thing, do the right thing…_

It’s not hard to imagine how things go from there: Bucky’s an expert; he knows exactly what he’s doing. He pretends to have good intentions, but he spends about half of his time trying to focus on the work, and the other half, subtly flirting with Steve. To the kid’s credit, he makes good on his vow not to outright touch Steve. But at times, he might as well be. He knows how to make his voice sound like velvet, or look at Steve just right. If Bucky stretches along the chair, sometimes he won’t hesitate to glance over to where they’d fucked and make a small sound in his throat while he bites his lip. At one point, Steve has to move away from _beside_ him to _across_ from him when Bucky won’t stop sucking suggestively on the tip of his pen while he stares down at where Steve’s pointing on the page.

And, well, to _Steve’s_ credit, he actually fares a lot better than he thought he would. He’s hard almost the entire time – and Bucky knows it, too – but he doesn’t give into the temptation. He just continuously tries to steer Bucky back to the work, or taking the appropriate measures whenever Bucky needs to be reminded that what he’s doing is still incredibly inappropriate.

He can’t help but notice that Bucky always seems to respond best to Steve speaking to him sternly… Like, if Bucky’s acting far too lewdly, and Steve trying to be passive isn’t proving to work – he’ll lose his patience and snap, “Bucky, _enough_. Pen out of your mouth; eyes on the book, _now._ ”

And then it’s like Bucky’s an army brat, capable of following commands with the best of them. The pen will be out of his mouth in a split second flat, and Bucky will just breathe, “Yes, sir,” and look down to the page. Of course, it’s always just a few minutes later until he starts back up again, but for that short time in-between, it’s the most actual workBucky’s able to do; the most information he seems to absorb and retain.

This is essentially what happens over the course of the next two weeks; Bucky will drop by Steve’s place and they’ll spend a couple hours together at the dining room table. Bucky will rile Steve up without touching him _once_ , and Steve will get frustrated with him for it until he’s getting stern with him, and then Bucky will briefly pay attention. Confusingly, Bucky _never_ seems to be putting in any actual effort with regards to the work. He can repeat the information back to Steve as though we were well-versed on the topic, and yet no matter how many times Steve prompts him for the answers, they’re always wrong. Just like his tests, those are the only things that are incorrect. Every step that Bucky takes to get to the conclusion is always right.

By this point, Steve’s already caught on to the fact that Bucky’s wasting his time. He smartened up to that only by about the third day in, actually. He doesn’t know why he keeps letting Bucky come over; why he’s participating in this charade as much as Bucky is. Steve is conflicted, but he doesn’t know how to accept what exactly is going on inside – on the one hand, there’s still that part of him that always gives others the benefit of the doubt, and that part of him wants to believe that he really _can_ help Bucky improve his grades. On the other, he loves the game they’re playing about as much as it drives him crazy. It’s so fucking messed up, but every time he says no to Bucky, Bucky just wants him more, and Steve _likes_ that.

Not that he doesn’t lose any sleep over it, mind you. He loses plenty. He hasn’t been a religious man since high school, but he even finds himself _praying_ some nights – a last ditch effort, like that could maybe help him. He asks for strength to turn away from temptation; he asks for forgiveness for the things he’s done, and how he _feels_ about Bucky in the first place. Mostly, he just wishes he knew why his desires were so goddamn profane.

Steve was playing with fire the first time he let Bucky into his house, but these days, he’s pretty much swallowing it. Every time he opens his door for his student and allows him inside, he’s welcoming the chance for things to go badly again. Not that they have so far – Steve keeps saying no, after all – but the more time they spend together, the closer the calls get.

He _almost_ gives in one evening when Bucky’s particularly horny and starts talking; talking over Steve, not shutting the fuck up – telling Steve how badly he misses his ass hurting, ‘cause it felt all better now... And then relaying every detail from a horribly _vulgar_ dream he’d had the night before. Steve’s hands are practically twitching by the time Bucky’s little story reaches the part where he dreamt of Steve licking his ass open. He cuts Bucky off by suddenly standing up and slamming the textbook closed. “We’re done for the day. Goodbye, Bucky,” he announces firmly.

Bucky just writhes a little in his chair, staring up at him with a little flush on the apples of his cheekbones. He looks thrown off as much as he seems to love it when Steve tries so hard to turn him down like this. He goes to open his mouth – probably to argue – but Steve just shakes his head and shoves Bucky’s textbook into his bag. Pointing to the front door, he pushes Bucky’s backpack to him and orders authoritatively, “I said we’re _done_. Get out.”

“Gotta tend to your little ‘problem’ and don’t want me to be here for it?” Bucky teases coyly, eyes dropping to the hard outline of Steve’s erection in his pants.

“Bucky, that’s enough. I’m telling you to leave.”

“I can always help you with that, you know… You know how nice my mouth is.”

Steve’s cock jumps a bit, and he swallows the lump in his throat. This is cutting it way too close to the chest. He’s about three seconds away from grabbing the kid, shoving him straight against the wall, and fucking him right there with his long fucking legs wrapped around Steve’s waist. He’s been doing so well so far at not letting that happen.

Feeling a little lightheaded again, Steve reaches down impatiently and fists his hand in Bucky’s shirt above his shoulder. Pulling him from his chair, he lets go once Bucky’s standing, and then in a gentler (more pleading) tone, says, “I’m not kidding around. Bucky… Please. I need you to leave now.”

Bucky gives him a little smirk, wetting his lips with his tongue, before stepping in close. Steve tenses; skin scalding beneath his clothes and only getting hotter the more Bucky comes near. The only brain power he has left is being used to remind himself to just keep his hands where they are; _don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t fucking touch, Jesus fuck, he smells good, wanna touch him, wanna watch him fall apart again, fuck…_

Keeping his promise not to make contact, Bucky leans in until his lips are just about brushing across Steve’s, but not actually enough to touch. “Alright,” he purrs, staring directly into Steve’s eyes. “I’ll go. But you should know that the second I get home, I’ll be wrapping my fingers around my dick and makin’ myself come to the thought of chokin’ myself on you.”

“Buck…”

“Miss the taste of your cock, sir,” Bucky continues in a whisper. He ghosts his lips across Steve’s again – so tempting that Steve feels legitimately pained from having to stop himself from seizing that kiss – and then says, “See you tomorrow.”

Just like that, he turns and casually heads for the door. All Steve can do is remain where he is and watch as Bucky slips on his Vans and then leaves. Bucky doesn’t even bother glancing back to Steve once, and for whatever reason, Steve finds that fucking hot. Once that front door is closed, he lets out the breath he’d been holding and then strides over to lock it. The very next place is goes is straight to his room, where he spends a good half hour fucking his fist over his leaking dick – picturing what Bucky said he’d do once he got home as well.

When he comes, he stutters over Bucky’s name.

* * *

The next day – Friday – Steve does his very best to look at Bucky as little as he can while in class. That night, however, Bucky shows up for another ‘tutoring’ lesson, and Steve reaches his wit’s end. 

It starts with Steve actually having the foolish belief that he’s found a temporary solution to his problem. Half of the issue is that while he’s trying to teach Bucky, he’s always sitting so close to him. So, he figures that by eliminating that need and having a lesson that keeps the distance between them, things will be safer. The night before, around ten pm, he’d been struck with the idea for the mock test.

“This way, I can see what it is you’re still struggling with versus what you’re understanding, and then we can go from there,” he explains, sliding the test in front of Bucky. The brunet scrunches up his nose at the sight of it, muttering back, “Seriously?”

Yeah, seriously. He actually feels pretty proud of himself for thinking of that; even brought it with him to school that day so he could go over the questions at lunch and make sure no changes needed to be made. It’s not often he can feel like he out-smarted Bucky at his own game, so when he grabs a pen and puts it down on top of the test, he answers, “Yes, actually. I’ll give you thirty minutes, then I’m gonna mark it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, taking up the pen. “Fine,” he says, leaning forward onto his elbows to get a look at the questions. “For the record, givin’ students tests outside of school time should be against the law.”

“There are a lot of things that should be against the law, but aren’t,” Steve replies flatly, moving away from him to go sit down on the couch. “That’s life. You wanted my help, now you’re getting it. Thirty minutes, you can start now.”

While Bucky works on the test, Steve keeps himself busy on his phone. And by that, what he’s really doing is trying to find any reason possible to _not_ think about where he’s sitting and what they’d done. Fuck, that feels like that’s his life all over now – just desperately trying not to remember how intimate they’d been, the second he’s around Bucky again. Bucky’s quiet while he writes, and Steve can’t help but wonder from time to time whether or not he’s having any difficulty. He almost gets up to go ask him if he needs help, but then he remembers that that’s not how tests work. He needs to let Bucky get through this on his own.

At the thirty minute mark, he announces, “Alright, time’s up. You finished over there, or do you need another minute?”

“No, I’m done,” Bucky replies, sitting back in his chair. Steve rises and approaches him, taking the test after Bucky holds it out to him. He’s got that tiny, ‘spells trouble’ smirk turning up one corner of his mouth again, but Steve ignores it. Immediately, he feels frustration by what he sees.

 _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._ Right. _Another one wrong…_

“Are you serious, Buck?” Steve asks incredulously, still staring at the test and counting up all the wrong answers. More than half of them are incorrect. Holding it in the air, he gestures to it with his other hand and then exclaims, “Have you even been paying _any_ attention to anything I’ve said? How is it possible that literally all of your work is right, but then you get this many answers wrong? Is this all a big joke to you – you just don’t give a shit whether you fail or not?”

Bucky sneers to himself, rolling his eyes as he looks away. Shaking his head, he mutters, “Was a stupid test anyways.”

“Why are you even here?” Steve asks him, almost feeling _angry_ now. The tone in his voice is what makes Bucky look back up to him. “Seriously, _why?_ To fuck with my head when you’re telling me you’re here to pull your grades up? To take advantage of my time and me trying to help you just so you can try and get me to fuck you again? You know what - if this is nothing but a game to you then go, _now_. No matter what fucking happened between us, I'm still your teacher, and I’m not gonna contribute to you failing any more, you understand?”

Bucky’s breathing is shallower. Steve’s shocked to see that the boy’s pupils are heavily dilated, and he looks so fucking _submissive_ when Steve talks to him like that that all the anger Steve was just feeling starts to become replaced with arousal. Ever conflicted these days, Steve stammers over his words and puts the test down before stepping away again. Bucky won’t take his eyes off of him, and those gorgeous lips are parted again, and he’s staring up at Steve heatedly, from beneath those dark fucking lashes. Steve’s growing hard at the sight – the electricity he can practically _feel_ crackling in the air around them – and he has no idea what to do.

“Why did _you_ keep lettin’ me come over?” Bucky retaliates, voice low and almost hoarse. “Every single time I’ve been here, you knew what I wanted. It’s not like I made a point to ever hide that. If you really wanted me to stop, you would’a made me leave the first time and not let me come back.”

He slowly reaches out and slips the tips of his fingers into the waistline of Steve’s pants. Curling them, he begins to pull Steve towards him; eyes still stuck on Steve’s. His feet are moving compliantly, and Steve wants to stop, but _he also really doesn’t_. So he keeps moving – his own pupils swallowing up the blue in his eyes, his own mouth tipping open as his breathing quickens. His pulse is in his ears, but still he takes tiny steps closer, Bucky still tugging him like that.

“You want this just as much as I do. You think I can’t see that?” Bucky continues quietly. “You think I don’t know how many times you probably jerk yourself off to the thought of me the second I leave? You’re literally hard as a rock every time I go.”

Steve grabs onto the back of Bucky’s chair once he’s close enough that the brunet can simply lean forward – still achingly slow, still peering up at him – and hover his lips right over the bulge in Steve’s crotch. “I told you from the start, if you told me no and meant it, I’d leave you alone for you real,” Bucky says. He tilts his chin up and drags his bottom lip up against Steve’s cock, causing it to catch and tug slightly. Steve can see Bucky’s bottom teeth; that wet little tongue of his… And Bucky’s doing it again – making it impossible for Steve to think.

“You know why I haven’t stopped?” Bucky’s voice is nothing but a soft whisper, purposely sounding _young_ again. Holy fuck, it’s one of the Achilles heels Steve still doesn’t want to accept he has, but Bucky’s figured it out. He knew from that very first time; stored that information away as future arsenal. “Because you don’t want me to. You like this… You like _me -_  how good I made you feel…You told yourself we couldn’t do this no more, but you want me just as bad as I want you, _don’t you_ , sir?”

Then he pokes the tip of his tongue out and licks a small, teasing line over the fabric… Right along Steve’s cock. That hand on the back of the chair flies to the back of Bucky’s head and fists into his hair. Bucky exhales a tuft of hot air at the contact, momentarily closing his eyes. What he does next is so simple and yet it blows Steve’s fucking mind: he makes a soft noise in his throat and then _nuzzles_ his face against Steve’s crotch, like a pet finally being given attention by their owner.

At the same time, his free hand reaches up and closes over Steve’s. Bucky pulls back, eyes still shut, so he can turn his face into Steve’s palm and nuzzle that, too. He looks very touch-starved all of a sudden – relaxes right against Steve like he’s been dying for it. It’s only when he kisses the heel of his hand that Bucky re-opens his eyes, looking back up to him.

Everything within Steve melts. It feels like that first time all over again, where he’d tried so hard to resist, only for it all to hit a breaking point where suddenly Steve was incapable of saying no any longer. Fuck him – no, seriously, _fuck him, Steve is so fucking fucked_ , how did he let it get this bad between them? Bucky’s completely right: Steve wants this so goddamn badly. He didn’t just keep ‘letting’ Bucky come over simply because he wanted to be a good teacher; more than that, he did it because he just _likes_ having Bucky around. Steve’s attracted to him – fucking every fiber of his being constantly feels like it’s reaching out for him. And just like the last time, there’s also the danger of how forbidden something like this is that seems to get to the both of them.

If he were able to hold onto even a speck of rationality right now, he’d probably ask himself… Is he just going to go and regret this decision come morning, too? Should he be letting this happen - _again_? At _all_ …? No, probably not, he – he doesn’t know; can’t think right now. That’s the whole problem. Whatever this is, whatever Bucky sparks within him, however it is it makes Steve feel… he just needs more of it. Bucky clearly needs it, too.

“Do you want me, sir?” Bucky asks – _oh good god, it sounds more like a fucking whimper_ – with his grey eyes wide.

Steve feels like he’s about to pass out, his head’s spinning so fast. Slowly, he moves without thinking; lowers himself down to one knee and then the other, until he’s face-to-face with the boy before him. He doesn’t think he blinks even once, and neither does Bucky. He lifts his other hand and that one cups Bucky’s other cheek, his fingers threading into dark strands below his ear. Steve’s lips part like he’s about to answer… But then all he does is give a small nod, still staring into Bucky’s eyes, before leaning in.

He stops when their foreheads touch. Bucky closes his eyes first; Steve, following a split second later. Steve can feel Bucky panting softly against his mouth – the poor boy is actually shivering on the chair, his body so wound up with arousal. Steve purposely draws out a few languid seconds; not necessarily knowing why… But just because he likes the way Bucky shakes.

“I want you,” Bucky whimpers again, and that’s when Steve cuts him off. Tilting his chin in, he covers Bucky’s lips with his own and kisses him roughly. Bucky’s eyes squeeze even tighter shut. He inhales sharply through his nose and then whines deep in his throat, his hands grabbing onto Steve’s hips and clutching frantically.

They’re not quick kisses, but they’re aggressive… Deep… Steve keeps Bucky’s face still so only he can control when he tilts his face from side to side. Bucky just tips his mouth open whenever Steve does and meets his teacher’s tongue halfway, sighing and moaning – so needily, so _beautifully_. Why does he have to affect Steve this way? _Why_ is he so fucking addictive? With his mouth against Bucky’s like this, it’s the first real moment of calm that Steve’s felt in weeks, despite how riled up his body feels; how chaotic his brain is in this moment. The last time he felt anything akin to this was when he’d been inside of Bucky’s body.

_It’s not fair._

Eventually, Steve pulls away to catch his breath. He can’t help but get a little smile when Bucky shakes his head and tries to kiss at his swollen lips again. Steve just whispers gently, “Stop that, I need a second,” before chuckling. Bucky’s eyes open, and Steve suddenly gets the overwhelming desire to tell Bucky just how beautiful he is. Because he really is ( _it’s not fair, it isn’t, it’s not fucking fair, I wish I didn’t want you like this_ )… His hair’s messy from Steve’s fingers playing through it, his lips are bright red, and his eyes are unfocused. But it’s when Bucky sees the little smile on Steve’s face and gets one of his own… _That’s_ when Steve’s throat gets tight.

Luckily for him, he’s spared from having to say anything when Bucky says, sounding much more satiated, “You still gotta grade my test. Maybe that’ll help you calm down.”

“I already looked at your test,” Steve reminds him. “You really want me to go _back_ over all those wrong answers?”

“ _Mm_ … Trust me…” Bucky kisses his chin chastely. “I have an idea… to help me learn. If you’re up for it, that is.”

Steve’s eyes flutter closed at the feeling of Bucky brushing his lips along the skin beneath his jaw. “What’re you proposing?” he asks, just trying not to groan at this point.

Bucky takes a deep breath through his nose and sits back, glancing over to Steve’s couch. Letting it out, he says, “Okay, stand up.” Grabbing his test and the pen, he guides Steve to it and then hands him the materials. Steve regards him curiously – wondering what he’s up to – when Bucky gets down onto his own knees and starts to undo Steve’s belt.

The internal struggle within the blond immediately has his impulses telling him that he needs to stop Bucky from doing that, but… he doesn’t. He remembers what that boy’s mouth had felt like around him and _fuck, he wants it back_ … So he just stares down, mouth falling open the slightest bit at that phenomenal sight of Bucky on his knees, between Steve’s thighs. He just keeps his hands to himself for now, is all.

“Same deal as last time,” Bucky murmurs, sliding open the belt and now slowly working his fly down. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“O-Okay…”

“Can I tell you what I want you to do to me?”

Steve’s mouth is completely dry, because now he’s watching Bucky sneak his hand into the little opening at the front of Steve’s boxers… Feels his fingers locate his cock… Watches Bucky get it out through the slit in the material so he can do whatever he wants to without having to get Steve’s pants down his thighs. Bucky licks his bottom lip and then bites it hungrily when he finally gets to see Steve’s dick again. Seeing him eyeing it with thatmuch want is enough to get precome shining around Steve’s tip.

“Can I… umm, say 'no' if I’m not comfortable with doing it?” Steve asks back, voice cracking.

“Yeah, of course.” He leans in and gives Steve’s cockhead a little suck, just to clean up the mess around the slit. Steve jolts with a small grunt, which gets Bucky gazing up at him with an even darker expression. “I’ll cut the cheesy, stereotype bullshit and get right to point… I wanna blow you while you grade my test. Should I say that, or should I ask for it?”

Steve’s hands are actually making into fists, and he can faintly hear the paper crinkling up in his grip. “Ask for it,” he says without thinking.

Bucky’s left hand disappears out of view, but in his throat, he makes a tiny, wobbly sound – and his arm is definitely moving. He must be stroking himself from over his jeans, _fuck…_ Widening his eyes, his brows raising in the center – like some sort of puppy dog look – Bucky listens nicely and asks, “May I please suck your cock, sir?”

Steve nods, unable to take his eyes off of him. Bucky smirks at his permission, and then mutters, “Thank you,” before giving the underside one appreciative little lick. He starts to kiss from the base of Steve’s erection up to the top, then back down again. Between kisses, he says, “Please keep track of how many answers I got wrong… Then I want you to punish me for them…”

 _Fuck_ , _fuck, sweet baby Jesus, shit fuuuuck._ Steve’s head is going to explode. He twitches against Bucky’s lips. Bucky responds by exhaling a moan before closing his lips around the tip and then giving Steve a few shallow sucks.

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” Steve hisses, dropping his head back against the couch. “Wh… What exactly am I supposed to do for that?”

“Up to you,” Bucky replies. “Surprise me. I trust you.”

That’s sort of unexpected, to be honest. Steve doesn’t think he’s really done anything to warrant having Bucky’s trust. Though, then again, he supposes he hasn’t done anything to _not_ deserve it, either. Regardless, he asks, “What if I do something you don’t like?”

Bucky pulls his mouth back completely. Looking up at Steve’s face, he answers, “Then I’ll tell you. I’ll say, in these exact words, ‘Steve, I don’t like that.’ Okay?”

“Okay…”

“Good… Am I allowed to touch myself while I suck you off?”

“Uh… yeah?” Steve answers in confusion. “It’s not like I’d say no to that.”

Bucky laughs. Grabbing for Steve’s free hand, he moves it to the back of his head again and encourages Steve to grip his hair by the roots. “I like it better when you tell me what you want,” he replies. “I like you bossin’ me around.” His eyes darting over to the mostly crumpled test in Steve’s other hand, he teases, “Better get on that. If you come before you finish markin’, I win. You’ll have to give me whatever I want.”

 _I already will_ , Steve thinks. Ah god, he’s so royally fucked; one-hundred percent wrapped around this boy’s finger. He realizes that he’ll need both hands to be able to properly do this, so he uses the one in Bucky’s hair to first tentatively push Bucky’s face down against his lap. Bucky seems thrilled with this act of initiative – that Steve’s getting the memo and adhering to the type of behaviour Bucky wants from him – and only parts his lips too quickly to suck Steve’s cock straight along his tongue; into his throat.

Holy Christ, how could Steve have forgotten what it feels like in there? It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it feels like years. It’s difficult to concentrate right away since Bucky’s way too good at what he’s doing – made even worse when Steve can hear fumbling and then the scrape of a zipper being dragged down. Bucky wasn’t kidding about cutting the bullshit; he’s already sucking Steve off like he’s dying for it. But then he must’ve finally freed his own erection, too; starts playing with it in his left hand, because out of nowhere, he jolts from between Steve’s legs and then starts whimpering all wobbly-like while his mouth slides _up_ and _down_ …

After almost a solid minute of getting distracted by Bucky’s perfect technique and _sinfully_ gorgeous face (fucking _seriously_ , Steve’s never seen someone who looks _that_ hot sucking dick in his life), Bucky opens his eyes just a sliver so he can peer up at him. His nose twitches the tiniest bit - a little wrinkle pinching the skin between his brows - as whatever his left hand is doing makes Bucky whine in his throat.

It’s enough to remind Steve what _he’s_ supposed to be doing, so with barely any focus left, he twists his midriff to the side so he can use the armrest on the couch to grade the test on it. Once Bucky sees that Steve’s finally getting to it, he starts upping his game, just to be a dirty little tease. The blowjob quickly grows _obscene_ ; filled with noisy panting and loud wet sounds whenever Bucky will pull back just to lick circles around the tip before greedily swallowing him back down again.

Steve’s hardly capable of making out the writing on the papers because his lids are half-drooped, and he swears he can see stars. Little groans push out with every few breaths – his breaths, which are laboured and heavy as well. Honestly, at this point, he really doesn’t give a fuck how Bucky did on the test, which is awful of him.

Although, that’s not _quite_ true… Because Bucky wants Steve to ‘punish’ him for every incorrect answer, and for every shaky X he scribbles in blue ink, the more strikes Bucky has against him. It’s that very thought that makes him decide exactly what he wants to do to his student.

“I wanna spank you,” he breathes without thinking. The suction around his erection comes to a halt, but only for a second. Bucky moans loudly at Steve’s words and then hollows out his cheeks, dragging his lips all the way down the length until he’s practically kissing Steve’s pubic bone. Steve gasps, eyes rolling up into his head as it lolls back against the couch without control. He can hear Bucky gagging himself, about as acutely as he can feel the walls of his throat spasming around him. Then Bucky’s body heaves – gagging just a bit too much, but _fuck_ , it only makes Steve even harder – and he quickly pulls away to choke on a gasp of air.

“Yeah, _fuck, please_ , do that,” Bucky rasps, now using his right hand to jerk Steve off while he turns his face towards his arm, wiping away the spit on his chin. “How many did I get wrong?”

“Umm…” Steve’s already forgotten. He quickly flips the pages and counts each X, and then answers, “Eleven.”

“Out of?” Bucky almost sounds amused.

“Fifteen. Failed by more than ha… half.”

Bucky hums. “Definitely can’t get away with that, can I?”

He’s still stroking Steve; rubbing his thumb over the slit over and over every time he’s twisting his wrist near the crown. Steve’s neck and chest are flushed, he knows this even without having his clothes off. He feels like he’s about to combust into flames. Still, he has enough mind to ask, “You gonna be able to handle eleven? D-Don’t wanna hurt you…”

“Oh, please,” Bucky mutters, rolling his eyes. “You think I’ve never been spanked before?”

Steve doesn’t want to imagine it, but he does anyway – pictures Bucky bent over _anything_ (anything will do), with his cute ass burning bright red as tears prickle the corners of his eyes, maybe even trickle down his cheeks after a while, and he cries out _louder_ and _louder_ from the intoxicating combination of pain and pleasure. Simultaneously, that same image fills Steve with anger all over again, because Bucky’s insinuating that he _has_ experienced that before, and Steve fucking hates picturing this kid with other people… even if he still has no right to feel that way.

Maybe Bucky knows that pushing that button makes it easier for Steve to slip into the more aggressive role. Isn’t that how it’d worked the last time? Either way, it drives Steve to drop the pen onto the small table next to the couch, so he can lean down and grab Bucky’s face in both hands and shut him up with a possessive kiss. Bucky goes pliant against him; lips parting immediately so Steve can lick into his mouth as though he were trying to claim it. Letting go of his cock, Bucky brings his left hand to the side of Steve’s neck while he continues to fuck his fist over the older man’s cock with his right.

“Tell me to spank you,” Steve commands, tilting his face to the other side and then kissing Bucky again.

“Spank me,” Bucky begs before the words are barely finished coming out of Steve’s mouth. “Make me cry. I wanna come so bad.”

“Upstairs,” Steve says. “It’ll be easier on my bed.”

“Okay.” Bucky lets go of him, and after getting caught up in several more drunken kisses, they rise and take things to Steve’s room. At least there, he knows he’s got condoms and his bottle of lube. They’d only gotten halfway up the stairs before Bucky was shoving Steve against the wall and going for his mouth again; grinding up against him like he just couldn’t wait. That’s when they started shedding their clothes. They’re on top of the bed now, fully naked – blankets not yet pulled down and perhaps they won’t be at all – but from the stairway leading to Steve’s room, their clothes spell out their pathway.

Sexier than breadcrumbs, that’s for sure. Steve has to fight really hard not to make that comment while he’s got Bucky pressed like this against him, lest he go completely destroy the mood by sounding like an idiot.

He’s in the middle of letting his hands get reacquainted with the smooth, lean planes of Bucky’s body – lips kissing along his neck, sucking just softly enough that it won’t leave Bucky with any lasting hickeys – when the brunet asks, “You think you can… _Oh_ … maybe eat me out first?”

Steve pulls back enough so he can meet Bucky’s faraway gaze. He can’t help but wonder if Bucky’s already forgotten that Steve’s sort of _completely inexperienced_ when it comes to being intimate with other men. Hell, his first blowjob had only been two weeks before, and the only reason he’d fared decently at that was the combination of having no gag reflex, and Bucky controlling the whole thing. Who knows how sloppy his work would’ve been had either of those factors been missing. Furthermore, he’s never exactly considered sticking his tongue in someone’s ass before, and he doesn’t really know how he feels about that now.

Except…

It’s that fucking look on Bucky’s face. Bucky could convince men to murder with that look. And the thing is, this one’s particularly special, and that’s why it’s so lethal: it’s that same look Steve saw the last time, when Bucky’s losing control and simply giving into the lust he’s feeling, and then the look on his face is entirely _genuine_. It’s not smug; it’s not knowing. Bucky’s not putting it on, and it’s not some sort of game. These sorts of looks are Bucky’s ‘tell’ – nothing but vulnerable, irrevocable, completely _committed_ need.

Steve’s fucking missed that look.

So how can he say no? It could at least be worth a try...

“I’ve never done that before,” he admits.

Bucky continues to roll his hips against Steve’s thigh, pulling Steve down so he can kiss chastely at his lips. “I know, it’s okay. Just like goin’ down on a girl; don’t over-think it. I made sure I showered and got myself clean before comin’ over--” (Steve groans helplessly, because _of course_ Bucky came prepared, of course he fucking did, _fucking god_ …) “If you don’t wind up likin’ it, just finger me like last time.”

Steve can’t argue with that. That was definitely something he didenjoy – immensely, actually. So he nods, mutters, “Alright,” and then Bucky moves with excitement, getting onto his knees and resting his weight on his forearms.

“Don’t worry about technique or nothin’,” Steve hears Bucky says in earnest. “Pretty much anythin’ feels good for me when it comes to rimming. Maybe one day I can show ya…”

Steve’s not completely sure about that, but he’s not about to spoil the mood by saying anything. Getting up onto his knees, his gaze trails from the back of Bucky’s neck, down his beautifully arched spine, to his ass. Bucky sure does have a fucking perfect ass, and when Steve slides his hands over the cheeks and experimentally spreads him open to have a better look, he has to admit, he’s definitely coming around to the idea of getting his mouth on it.

Bucky’s clearly very comfortable in his own skin, and he seems to enjoy being on display. Steve can hear him moan softly _just_ at the feeling of Steve’s thumbs spreading his cheeks; at knowing that Steve’s baby blues are fixated on the sight of his hole. Bucky’s forehead is dropped down against the mattress, and he starts rolling his back up and down impatiently. It sounds like he’s whimpering something… It takes just a few seconds for Steve to realize that he’s begging, “Lick me.”

He bends down, brings his face in close, and does – just once, from Bucky’s perineum, straight over his opening. Bucky tenses and then relaxes, making a blissful sound that gets Steve glancing up to watch the back of his head. There’s a taste, for sure, but Steve can’t put his finger on what exactly it is. It’s not _bad_ , not at all. Just different. The reaction it clearly sparks in Bucky though is enough to make Steve want to do it again.

He sticks with that for the first minute or so; just giving singular licks right over Bucky’s hole and then kissing along his tailbone… The sensitive flesh around the ring of muscles itself. Sometimes, he pulls back immediately after dragging his tongue upward so he can see that hole flutter. It’s strange – that he’s gone his entire life under the impression that these sorts of things did nothing for him, and yet right now, watching Bucky’s asshole twitch from his tongue is easily one of the most arousing things he’s ever seen.

Bucky continues to grow impatient; eventually starts repeating, “ _More_ …” and “ _Please_ ”, sometimes said together. So Steve complies, because for as sweet as Bucky sounds when he begs, he sounds even sweeter when Steve gives him what he wants. He still doesn’t really know what counts as ‘proper technique’, but he’s gone down of plenty of women throughout his life, so he relies on information he _is_ familiar with. He’ll kiss it, or close his lips over it and suck gently. He’ll get a better grip and spread Bucky open a bit wider and then do nothing but dart the tip of his tongue quickly against him. With the tip of his tongue, he’ll trace circles, or lick flat lines over it again, and playing with different speeds keeps Bucky guessing, which he seems to like.

Steve had also forgotten how mind-blowing the sounds Bucky makes are. Once again, _shame on him._ As the minutes fade away, Bucky starts to lose tension in his muscles, until his hole is growing more lax under the onslaught of Steve’s ministrations. Letting instincts – and Bucky’s encouraging moans – guide him, he starts taking more control; will dip the tips of his index fingers _just the tiniest bit_ into him so he can spread him even more and start working his tongue _into_ Bucky’s body. After a while, Steve even starts twisting and working his fingers all the way into him, so he can help open Bucky up more thoroughly while he continues to eat him out.

He’s at his hardest between his own legs… Didn’t even realize he was also releasing low, throaty moans here and there - and all he’s doing is eating this kid out. Guess he can add this to the list of things Bucky’s making Steve realize he’s into. The harder he makes Bucky squirm and _keen_ for him, the more he finds himself _really_ wanting to get his hand stinging from swatting it off of this beautiful ass.

Leaning back and pulling out his fingers to wipe them off the bedding, Steve caresses his other hand soothingly off of the unblemished skin. “How do you want me to do this?” he asks. “Spanking you, I mean.”

“I don’t care,” Bucky replies breathlessly, lifting his head to glance back at him from the corner of his eye. “However you want, sir. Just tell me you want me.”

“Okay… Just stay the way you are then. You look perfect just like this.”

Bucky preens from the compliment, smiling dreamily to himself as he lowers his head back down, now pillowing the side of it on top of his arms. Steve decides that getting off of the bed completely will allow him a fuller swing, so once he’s on his feet, he takes Bucky’s hips in his hands and guides the boy to shuffle closer to the edge of the mattress. He relaxes Bucky first by rubbing his hands up and down his back. Bucky hums with content at the touch.

“I’m gonna count each one out,” Steve tells him, “and then I want you to repeat it back to me.”

“Okay.”

“You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If it’s too much, I need you to tell me.”

Bucky pushes his ass back to Steve’s crotch, grinding against his hard-on and making Steve curse under his breath. “I will,” Bucky promises. “But I want you to. Just do it.”

Nodding, Steve keeps one hand gripping Bucky’s waist while he licks up the palm of the other. He’d been with a girl once who’d asked him to spank her during sex, and she’d been the one to tell him about that trick. He lifts it to just above the height of his shoulder, hesitates just briefly, and then brings it down.

There’s a sharp smacking sound – cuts through the air around them like a fucking whip – and Bucky’s back bows as a pitchy gasp draws his lungs up tight. The sound of his hand hitting flesh, the noise it subsequently pulls from Bucky – it’s all a _lot_ louder than Steve was preparing himself for, so he immediately thinks he fucked up; was too rough, too quickly. He’s about to apologize when Bucky, now whimpering, chokes out, “O-One.”

“I didn’t say it first,” Steve says, surprised that Bucky’s not asking him to stop.

He hears a struggled laugh. “You didn’t say _anythin’_.”

“‘Cause I didn’t know if I hurt you or not.”

“Of course you hurt me – that’s the point, ain’t it?” Bucky replies.

The skin of Steve’s palm is already starting to tingle with hundreds of pin-prick sensations, and the sweet sting travels straight to his cock and gets it even more flushed. Steve still holds off, though; asks, just to make sure, “You don’t want me to stop?”

Bucky pushes himself up to his elbows so he can look back to Steve properly. He looks just as exasperated as he does debauched. “Did I say I wanted you to stop?”

“No.”

“Then I’m fine. Seriously, Steve, this only works if you trust me like I’m trustin’ you. So can you just trust me,  _please?_ I like pain, but m’not abusive towards myself – if I don’t like something you do, I’m _gonna_ tell you,” Bucky says insistently.

“Okay… I’m sorry. That was one. I’m not gonna stop now unless you tell me otherwise,” Steve says, raising his hand again. He watches Bucky’s eyes follow it, wiping off all the moment’s frustration from his face until the only thing left is that desperate _want_ again.

“Good…” Bucky whispers, suddenly sounding hypnotized.

Steve spanks him again; firmly announces, “Two,” at the same time that Bucky grunts in pain. He waits until Bucky forces himself to repeat it back to him before giving him the next one. By six, he’s releasing Bucky’s waist so he can backhand the neglected cheek. Bucky seems to particularly like that one. Instead of repeating the number, he just cries out loudly and then pants, “ _God… god…_ ” through harsh breaths.

“Bucky,” Steve tries to prompt him. His tone is slightly stern, since Bucky seems to respond best to that. But either his student’s purposely ignoring him, or he needs a bit more of a push to bring him back into the room. So Steve grabs his hips and thrusts himself against Bucky’s ass; letting the boy feel his leaking cock as his fingertips dig into his sides.

The words tumble out of him without even thinking about them: “I said _six_ , little boy.”

A switch in Bucky goes off. Just like that, he’s lifting his head and quickly looking back to Steve with wide eyes. His face is almost as red as his ass, and somehow the name makes Bucky’s eyes twice as glossy, at the same time that the rest of him seems to gather back some control. “M’sorry sir,” Bucky says meekly, falling right into his role. “Six. Six, sir.”

Steve gives him a nice, hard seventh one while their eyes are still locked, because he wants to be able to see what Bucky’s face looks like when the white-hot pain thrums over him. And it’s too much – his nose scrunches up as his mouth falls open with a cry, and Bucky’s grey eyes roll back into his head before closing completely. Steve’s own lips part, and suddenly he’s letting go of Bucky’s waist to hectically open up his bedside drawer and retrieve a condom and his bottle of lube.

“Seven,” he remembers to say, albeit distractedly, while he fishes them out.

“Se-ven,” Bucky stutters; takes him a second to see what Steve’s doing, and then he seems to buzz to life all over again. Pushing himself up so his arms are straightened, he spreads his legs wider with anticipation and whines quietly with every breath, eagerly keeping his eyes on Steve while the latter slides the condom down his cock. Hastily stroking the slick over himself, he approaches Bucky again and fists the base… Steps in close to slowly trace his cockhead in circles around Bucky’s hole, as he presses his clean hand to the center of the boy’s back.

“You want it?” he asks almost tauntingly. It’s like he can _hear_ himself talking, but the tone of his voice doesn’t even sound like his… This man Bucky’s bringing out of him, someone he never knew even existed. It’s not like Steve’s always been ‘vanilla’, but he’s certainly never been like this before. And yet, it feels so natural to him. Everything that should be foreign and scary to Steve feels completely intrinsic when he’s with Bucky.

And _that’s_ the part that actually scares him.

“Mhm, mhm,” Bucky mewls, nodding feverishly and his focus, still right on Steve.

Steve pushes just the slightest bit against his asshole; enough to make Bucky strain, but not enough to slip inside and give him the relief Steve knows he’s dying for. “Four more. You want my hand, my cock, or both?”

“Both, _both_ , _both_ ,” Bucky chants. Just like he’d been back on the chair, he’s having such a hard time being good and keeping still for Steve that he’s starting to tremble all over again. Steve thinks that he loves that Bucky just can’t help from doing that when he gets restless.

“Both, hmm? That’s pretty greedy, don’t you think?” Steve keeps going - keeps chiding him - not fucking knowing where the hell this is all coming from on his end. Tilting his hips forward, he nudges the head of his cock into Bucky’s ass. That welcoming tightness makes Steve bite his lip with a soft groan, while Bucky startles at the penetration and wheezes a strained, broken-up sound into the air. He slowly slides in inch after inch; sees that hole stretch bigger around him just like last time. Steve’s so far gone – so fucking impaired by Bucky taking over every morsel of self-control in his brain – that all he can think are _ludicrous_ things… Things like, _So perfect, he’s so perfect, don’t want anything else ever again_ …

When he’s finally able to start thrusting, he doesn’t take it easy on him. Only seconds after he feels Bucky’s had the chance to adjust, he’s kneading Bucky’s tender rear while withdrawing most of the way and then slamming back into him. The force makes Bucky drop back down his elbows, right hand snapping out and clawing at the blanket beneath him. Steve gives him number eight while fucking into him. Bucky shrieks brokenly and then says the number back after four tries.

Steve picks up his speed and gives him five deep, quick thrusts before pulling out completely. Bucky doesn’t have a moment’s grace to wonder what just happened, because Steve hits his ass with the back of his hand, only to plunge back into him at the same time that Bucky gasps at the blow. Ten is done the same way, but then Steve starts driving into him steadily, and Bucky’s too busy crying out a string of ‘ _Ah_ ’s’ with every exhale to even have the brain power needed to repeat _anything_ back anymore. He’s got tears dripping down his cheeks, off his jawline…

When Steve realizes that Bucky’s got his other hand snuck between his legs, stroking himself, Steve manhandles both of Bucky’s wrists behind his back and pins them there. Using them as anchorage, he’s able to start pulling Bucky’s body backto meet the movement of his hips. Bucky’s sounds are relentless, definitely sound pained, but the boy also loves it. And Steve may be railing into him exactly like Bucky wants, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still paying close attention either. As good as it feels, and as devoted to it as Steve’s letting himself be, every little sound and every little facial expressionis being monitored – in case Steve needs to stop at any point.

“I wanna come,” Bucky starts repeating. He’s sniffling, still fucking crying, and it makes Steve confused. He knows they’re the good kind of tears – the kind Bucky told Steve he wanted to have – and though it sort of makes Steve feel like a sick sort of fuck, it only makes him want to make Bucky cry more, all the same. At the same time, this is the first time he’s ever seen Bucky cry, and it makes his heart ache… Sort of makes him just want to snatch the boy up and cuddle him close so Bucky never has to hurt again.

It’s like Steve wants to give Bucky everything a person could possibly give, just to make him happy; fuck him hard and hurt him nicely, but also hold him tight and protect him from the world. If he were allowed to… If it wouldn’t be wrong to… Steve would probably be in love with this kid. Unfortunately, that’s not an option, so he pushes the thought away.

“Sir? _Please_ ,” Bucky’s voice pulls Steve back. His voice thick with tears, Bucky begs, “Please let me come, please, I – I wanna c… _Mm!_ ” After a shaky litany of whines, he continues, “I need to come, it hurts, sir, please, it _hurts_ \- _mm god, god, ah…_ P-Please…”

Steve slows down his thrusts. His heart warming and that protective instinct indeed taking over him, he lets go of Bucky’s wrists so he can bend forward and kiss up his beautiful boy’s spine. When he gets to Bucky’s shoulder, he gently explains, “You got one left. Just one. Can you be good for me and let me spank you without coming? Can you be my good little boy, baby?”

He watches Bucky squeeze his eyes shut as he bites his lip. A frustrated sound gets trapped in his throat, but then Bucky exhales deeply and nods. “I can be good,” he says, like he actually wants to prove himself to Steve and show him he can really do it.

Steve gives his shoulder another kiss, murmuring reassuringly against Bucky’s skin, “That’s it, Buck... I’ll make it fast, I promise.” Then he backs off to push himself up again. He decides he wants to remain within Bucky for it, but slides his cock out enough for him to get decent mobility with his right arm. He considers re-wetting his palm, but Bucky seemed to give him more of a reaction with the _back_ of his hand, so… Not forcing Bucky to have to wait any longer, he inhales quickly through his nose and then lets out the air through his mouth when he cracks the back of his hand off of left side of Bucky’s ass.

Because it was the final hit, he puts a little more conviction into his effort to bruise Bucky’s skin. Bucky groans loudly first and then moans, fresh tears wetting the corners of his eyes. Steve rakes his gaze over the job well done as his hands start tenderly massaging away the tautness around Bucky’s body.

“Eleven,” he announces. “You did it, sweetheart. So proud of you – you’re so fucking amazing, baby.”

“E… Eleven…” Bucky whispers, shuddering violently. The weak whimper he releases is so indigent that it’s easily one of the most heart-wrecking things Steve’s ever heard. Bucky really _does_ sound so little when he sniffles and then fucking _hiccups_ before saying again, “Hafta come… Steve… _Steve_ … Please fuck me…”

Steve gently pulls out of him. Bucky whips his head to the side to look back at him, sounding almost injured at the loss, but Steve just murmurs, “Move forward a bit; I wanna get back on the bed.”

Tender as he is, Bucky winces several times while he does. Guilt flashes through Steve, but he tries to remind himself that Bucky asked for it, wanted it. He still feels bad about how scarlet his ass is now, though… How it might be bruised blue and purple by morning. So when he guides his cock back into Bucky, Steve’s purposely a lot more compassionate in the way he puts his hands on him.

Bucky practically purrs when he’s stuffed full again, breathing Steve’s name in gratitude. Instead of keeping him bent over like that this time, Steve reaches down and pulls Bucky up so his back can press flush to Steve’s chest. Holding him close, Steve starts rocking in and out of him. Bucky’s mouth drops open again as he rests his temple to the blond’s cheek, moaning deep and full and now, sounding far more peaceful. His body is still tight all over from his need to climax, but no longer from pain. As much as Steve enjoyed what they just did, he prefers Bucky calmer like this. He likes taking a gentler care of him.

Bucky reaches behind him with one hand to steady himself on Steve’s hip. With the other, he reaches up and palms the back of Steve’s head. In response, Steve keeps Bucky pinned to him with one arm across his chest and wraps his fingers around Bucky’s throat – not in a grip hard enough to choke him, just… holding him there. He closes his other hand around Bucky’s dick and starts stroking him.

Bucky’s moans are different now than they’d been before. They’re hotter, more drawn-out… almost _passionate_. Steve pants heavy breaths and continues to move faithfully within him, knowing that he’ll only be able to hold out until he gets Bucky off, but probably not for very much longer afterwards. Bucky’s just too tight. He feels too goddamn good.

When Bucky suddenly turns his face towards Steve and moves his hand to the side of Steve’s head to get him to turn his, too, he instantly know that Bucky’s about to let go for him. He remembers what Bucky had told him the last time: “ _I like to kiss when I come_.” Their lips barely close, and it’s mostly tongues meeting and biting lips and Bucky making all those frantic noises into Steve’s mouth. His dick grows even harder in Steve’s hand; Steve runs his thumb along a particularly thick vein as he slides his hand up to the tip. On the way back down, Bucky kisses him harder – whining unabashedly and unsteadily against his lips – and finally starts to come.

Semen arcs out onto the blanket in front of them, some of it beginning to coat Steve’s hand as he continues to work him through it. It’s the way Bucky’s body start spasming against his that gets Steve clenching his teeth, nostrils flaring, and fucking himself into Bucky faster. His orgasm floods him and he buries himself into Bucky, stilling. Once Bucky recognizes Steve’s body language and realizes what that means, he pulls Steve’s face closer for another kiss and licks straight along his tongue, moaning again purely for Steve’s enjoyment. It feels so good that _Steve_ feels like he could be the one to cry now.

Once they’re both finished, they don’t stay upright for long. Bucky’s completely wrecked; can barely move because his limbs seem to weigh heavy like lead. Steve’s pretty tired from it, too, and _he_ wasn’t the one who just got the crap spanked out of him. Bucky hisses when Steve withdraws from him. Steve kisses his jaw, around his ear, and whispers an apology. Then he uses whatever strength remaining within him to help Bucky lie down before working the main, come-covered blanket off of the mattress. After ditching that one in his hamper for now and draping a clean one over Bucky, he heads into the bathroom to get rid of the condom and wash his hands.

On the way back, he realizes that Bucky’s probably going to have welts on his poor body by morning. Despite whatever Bucky may tell him, Steve’s not at the point yet where he doesn’t feel like a bit of an asshole about that in the aftermath. Checking under the sink, he’s relieved to see that he has a couple things he can use. He pulls out Aloe Vera and Arnica cream, and then goes back to see Bucky.

The brunet is lying flat on his stomach with half his face buried into one of Steve’s pillows. He looks about seconds away from asleep, but when he hears Steve come back in, he opens one eye lazily and gives him a sluggish smile. “Oh good, you didn’t freak out and try runnin’ away on me,” he jokes. His voice is shot to shit.

Steve places the bottles onto the table next to his bed and then tenderly brushes the hair off of Bucky’s face. Bucky’s eyes fall closed again at the contact, and he hums. “I’m gonna run downstairs and grab you some ice, alright?” Steve says.

He expects Bucky to make some sort of comment about Steve knowing to do that if he’s never done anything like this before (to which Steve just would’ve answered that he still knows what you’re supposed to do to _bruises_ , because again, he’s a grown man), but he doesn’t. He just inhales a big breath through his nose and nods. Steve’s almost out the door when Bucky asks if he can bring Bucky’s backpack up to the room as well. Steve doesn’t really know what Bucky could want with that, but he says yes.

Once he’s by his side again, Steve takes his time pressing the cloth with a few ice cubes wrapped in it to the different areas on Bucky’s rear where Steve had struck him. Bucky grunts from time to time, and his face will twist up in discomfort. Yet whenever Steve apologizes, Bucky will just smile euphorically and sleepily murmur, “Mm-mm, shut up…” He even tells Steve that he can’t wait for when he’ll have to sit down and pretend it doesn’t hurt.

That he missed being reminded of Steve every time he moved.

There’s a lot more being said there, and Steve knows it. They both seem to. These aren’t things people who mean nothing to the other feel, or say. Yet, Steve doesn’t have it in him to bring this up and actually try talking about it with Bucky because it terrifies him too much. And it goes against everything he thought he believed in, and… He still doesn’t know what the fuck this is between them. For all of Bucky’s confident talk, Steve suspects that he doesn’t really know either, because he also avoids that conversation.

After Bucky’s been iced, Steve very mindfully applies some Aloe Vera to his skin, followed by the Arnica on the places where the bruises look like they’ll be their worst. Once that’s all over with, Steve cleans his hands and then wastes some more time silently trying to make up the pain he inflicted on Bucky by massaging his back.

“You’re gonna make me fall asleep,” Bucky keeps slurring into the pillow. There are actually a few times where Steve’s pretty sure Bucky drifts off on him, if even for a couple minutes.

“You gotta be home by a certain time?” Steve asks. He has to fight really hard not to think too deeply about that question – about the reminder that someone Bucky’s age could have a _curfew_ , and why exactly that’s a punch in the face and spits on everything they just shared.

But Bucky replies slowly, “Mm… No. Not tonight, actually. Usually it’s one a.m., but I told them I was crashing at my buddy Tim’s place, so… It’s up to you.”

“Up to me?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hums again. He sounds like he’s about to pass out on Steve again. It doesn’t help that Steve’s using his thumbs to patiently work a small knot out from between the brunet’s shoulder blades. “I can either… stay here, leave in the mornin’, or… I can head home whenever you want me to; just tell my parents I didn’t feel well or somethin’ and wanted to sleep in my own bed…”

Steve wants him to stay. That’s the very first thing he thinks. In fact, he wants that right now more than anything. But he isn’t sure if it’s the right choice. He can’t trust himself that if he sleeps with Bucky in his arms that he’ll ever be able to let him out of them again.

“Do _you_ want to stay the night?” he asks quietly.

Bucky gets that little smile again. “Well, either way, if you try to get me up right this second, I might have to kill you. M’really comfy… I wanna stay. But I don’t want you gettin’ all bent outta shape over it either. So… I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

Steve frowns to himself, softly scraping his top teeth over his bottom lip as he looks away. Removing his hands from Bucky’s back, he asks, “Can I think about it?”

“Yeah, of course. Can you lie with me for a little bit?”

Steve nods. “You think you can move enough for me to pull the sheets over us, too?”

Bucky nods, too. It takes him a bit to actually get moving, and it looks uncomfortable to do so, but he maneuvers himself enough for Steve to drag the blanket and sheet down the bed. Before crawling in beside him, though, Bucky tells him, “Wait. The main pocket of my bag, can you go into it? I got somethin’ in there for ya.”

“It’s not another apple, is it?” Steve jokingly asks.

Bucky smirks up at him, but the way he stares is _adoring_. Steve almost feels short of breath at the sight of it - and panicked, too. “No, smartass,” Bucky replies, “but I _knew_ you found that amusing. Back pocket, you should see it no problem.”

Curiously, Steve grabs Bucky’s bag and lifts it, resting it on the mattress. When he unzips it, he sees Bucky’s black binder and his textbook that he’d put back in there earlier… and some stapled pieces of paper in front of it. Steve has a feeling that whatever Bucky’s referring to, this is it. Confused, he pulls the papers out of the bag and takes a proper look.

His questions. His test… The mock one he’d given Bucky earlier, but… Bucky’s answers are different. Things not any less muddled, Steve flips from the first to the second page, and then to the third.

Every answer is correct.

“I saw your little fake test on your table at lunch – when I dropped by to leave my bag at my desk before class. When you left to go heat up your food?” Bucky offers, piecing it together for him. “Decided to make myself a copy. You know you take _forever_ to re-heat pasta?”

Steve still doesn’t fully get it. Lowering his hands with a frown, he looks to Bucky, brows creased, and says, “So the one you wrote for me earlier…”

Bucky just raises his own eyebrows with amusement – wanting Steve to finish that sentence all on his own.

“You’ve been faking it,” Steve concludes, realization dawning across his features. It doesn’t relax the wrinkle between his brows, though. “This whole time… You’ve been pretending not to know the answers so I’d agree to help you.”

“Well, _and_ for the whole ‘punishment’ thing tonight,” Bucky says playfully.

Steve’s bothered by this. Bucky doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of his ploy – what it could actually cost him. Putting the test back in the backpack, Steve lowers it to the ground and then sits down on the bed so he can get a better look at Bucky.

“Bucky, that’s not okay,” he explains, trying not to sound judgemental. “You shouldn’t dumb yourself down for anybody. You’re in your senior year… Just another semester and you’ll be graduating. This is the time when your grades are more important than ever.”

“I already did the math and figured it out,” Bucky says, shrugging. “I was plannin’ on telling you this weekend, whether it was tonight or tomorrow, or whatever. There’re still enough assignments, tests, and then the exam left for me to pass with an A minus if I can ace everythin’ from here on out. And _trust me_ , I can ace ‘em. You don’t know how hard it’s been sometimes to get that many answers wrong.”

He chuckles, but Steve doesn’t join him. Shaking his head, he says, “Buck… You’re not hearin’ me here. This isn’t just about the grades. I mean, yes, those are important, and as your teacher, I obviously care about that, but… You should never go to extremes like that just to get someone’s attention.”

Bucky’s smile disappears. He looks away and seems to mull over Steve’s words, before pushing himself up into a sitting position as well. When he grimaces in pain, Steve reaches for him, but Bucky just waves him off and mumbles, “It’s fine, I’m fine…” He keeps staring away, but then eventually meets Steve’s eyes again. “If I hadn’t have done that, would you have spent this much time alone with me? _Any_ time alone with me?”

Steve doesn’t know how to answer that. The truth is hard to actually get out. But he owes it to Bucky to force himself to. “I don’t know,” he confesses. “Probably not.”

“Exactly. I mean... do you wish we’d never done any of this?” Bucky then asks. "Be honest."

Steve knows the answer to that question just as easily, too. And it’s likewise just as hard to say, for so many fucking reasons. “No.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a second, and then Bucky gives a small nod. “Look, I’m sorry I played games with you,” he sighs, speaking sincerely. “I still don’t know what exactly this is. And I know you don’t, either, so I’m not expectin’ ya to. I just… I like bein’ around you. And I don’t like the idea of you bailin’ on it just because of what you think everyone _else_ would say about it. Especially if no one else needs to find out.”

“…I’m sorry I freaked out and put an end to it so quickly,” Steve admits after almost a minute of him staying silent. Shoulders sagging with a sigh of his own, he adds, “I told you I’d think about it properly, but then I panicked.”

“I know you did. I call you Mr. Serious for a reason, y’know.” Bucky gives him a tiny little smile, trying to get _Steve_ to smile. It works, but Steve’s is tired-looking; almost dejected. Bucky’s eyes roam over his face, and then he reaches up and cups either side of Steve’s face in his hands. Leaning in, he kisses Steve once, and it’s soft. He pulls back and they both open their eyes. Bucky looks straight into his as he says, “I still like you though.”

Steve swallows the lump in his throat. “I like you, too,” he whispers.

“I promise I won’t pull anymore stunts in public. And I won’t let my grades drop no more either, okay?” Bucky asks. Steve gives a small nod. “If I do that, can _you_ please promise me you’ll try to just… let this play itself out, and not go runnin’ on me so fast again? Not unless you know for _sure_ that this ain’t what you want?” Bucky presses. It takes a little longer this time, but again, Steve nods.

Bucky kisses him again. “C’mon, Mr. Serious, lie down,” he encourages, guiding Steve down with him. Steve pulls the blankets over them – and this is very familiar to what’d happened the last time between them. Only now, he and Bucky are facing each other, and Bucky’s eyes are still open. Steve’s heart feels full and his brain feels noisy, so he doesn’t know what to say. But reaching up and placing his hand along Bucky’s jaw, stroking his cheek with his thumb and seeing that adoring smile Bucky gives him again because of it… _That’s_ easy. That doesn’t require any thought, and that feels just right.

He isn’t sure how long they look at each other, but Bucky eventually puts an end to it by closing the gap between them and kissing at Steve’s lips again, this time slower and less scurried. Still, their lips part and then their mouths slot together as Bucky initiates deepening the kiss, and Steve lets Bucky lead.

“Stay tonight,” he hears himself say when he’s able to get a word in edge-wise.

“Alright,” Bucky replies effortlessly. Steve wishes he could go with the flow like this kid seems to. He kisses Steve a few more times and then lets his head fall back into the pillow. “If I’m sleepin’ over, then there’s still the matter of dinner. I haven’t eaten since lunch; I’m starving.”

“I can cook something for us?” Steve suggests.

Bucky gives him a surprised smile. “ _Cook_ for us, huh? I was thinkin’ more like take-out. How chivalrous – but alright, you wanna cook for me, I’m not gonna argue. Though… normally people wait until _after_ they’re treated to dinner before puttin’ out,” he adds as an afterthought. Then he grins to himself and jokes, “I guess we’re doin’ this the backwards way.”

 _Everything about this is backwards_ , Steve can’t help but think. He’s about to say that when Bucky leans towards his mouth again, his playful grin darkening suggestively as he murmurs, “But if ya play your cards right, I might be willin’ to let you have me again if you treat me nicely.”

There goes Steve’s thought process, straight out the window as usual. Staring at Bucky, he only closes his eyes at the last second when he feels soft, warm lips press to his. Yep… Wrapped around this boy’s finger. He doesn’t know how to tell Bucky that he doesn’t need to play _anything_ ‘right’ when it comes to wanting to treat Bucky ‘nicely’. That’s just the way Bucky deserves to be treated. And as wrong as it is to want it, Steve doesn’t need for there to be sex in order for him to want to make Bucky feel good… Or even just smile.

Steve doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to voice these things out loud. So for now, he just tightens his grip on the side of Bucky’s face and kisses him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [bucky-bucky-he-so-fine](http://bucky-bucky-he-so-fine.tumblr.com/) brought to my attention that the following gifs reminded them of Bucky 'studying' at Steve's place, so I had to put these in:
> 
> NSFW gifs for your enjoyment today ;) 1\. Excuse me, m'just gonna go casually fly into the sun
> 
> 2\. Fuuuuuck, look how red that cute little ass is...
> 
> 3\. HNGGGH!
> 
> 4\. Rimming, for your pleasure:
> 
> 5\. This totally looks like Steve sucking dick, and that makes me so happy
> 
> There are a couple different porn blogs I see these assortment of gifs from, but the main/favourite one is - as always - the amazing [stevebuckypornlookalikes](http://stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr.com/) tumblr <3 See you next time, sex monkeys!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a date. Steve doesn't know how to deal with his jealousy over it. Bucky pushes him to take control and claim what's rightfully his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill - be mindful of the tags, and heed the Underage warning. If it upsets or offends you, don't read. If you still choose to read, don't bother to comment and complain. (Seriously, why waste your time reading something that upsets you anyways? lol)
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/) is basically a place for Stucky, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Marvel, smut, or inappropriate humour - so if you feel like coming and hanging out with me, please do <3
> 
> **P.S. I am currently no longer taking prompts for the time being, due to an overwhelming number of them already, as well as me wanting to start focusing more on chaptered, more fleshed-out stories again. If you have a prompt you'd really like to give me, feel free to come message me on my Tumblr. But just know that I can't promise that I'll take it at the moment. Thank you!**

For a while, Steve and Bucky live within their own bubble – untouched by the outside world, where no one or nothing can ruin things for them.

For Steve, it’s almost like being trapped within an amazing kind of dream. With Bucky, he can lose himself. If he has his moments of doubt or guilt (and lord knows he has plenty of those), they’re all magically washed away the moment Bucky puts his hands on him. It’s not to say that Steve lets himself seriously believe that he and this boy can somehow have a happily-ever-after, it’s just… well, _easier_ not to think too much about it.

Just like Bucky asked of him. This time around, Steve tries his best to make good on his promise. The second-guessing tends to hit him at night for whatever reason. If Bucky’s there, Steve doesn’t get to dwell on it for too long; the second he’s looking off with a frown, or starting to voice those negative thoughts, Bucky will just gather Steve’s face in his hands and press their lips together, shutting him up. Sometimes, Steve does his best to keep talking. Always, that plan fails on him. He’ll find himself on his back, or rolling Bucky over onto his, and within seconds, he can never remember what it was that was troubling him. Everything’s forgotten when Bucky’s on his taste buds.

A couple weeks pass, and then a couple more, and Steve hates to admit to himself that he’s the happiest he can remember being in years. There still isn’t a name for what he and Bucky share together, and he isn’t sure there _is_ one. They’re certainly not dating, because that would be preposterous. For starters, to even entertain the idea of ‘dating’ would mean that they possibly wouldn’t feel the need to hide every aspect of their relationship from the world (if you could even call it a ‘relationship’). If Bucky were Steve’s boyfriend, he wouldn’t _want_ to have to keep him a secret. Yet, they have no other choice. How could two people _ever_ sustain a working relationship under those circumstances?

They couldn’t. So Steve removes that thought as even a facet of a possibility.

Bucky keeps his end of the deal and stops behaving inappropriately in class – well, outright, anyways. Nothing can seem to stop him from eye-fucking Steve if he knows he won’t get caught. Steve learns to deal with it the best he can, because in every other aspect, Bucky cleans up his act. Nothing’s too outrageous or runs them the risk of being found out. When his grades drastically improve, Bucky’s the one who devises the plan that _Steve_ call his parents in so Steve can bring it up and act like he’s just as confused as everyone else would be.

“It’ll take any potential suspicion off of havin’ to do with you,” Bucky explains.

So that’s what Steve does: sets up a meeting with Bucky’s parents and then has a discussion with them, with Bucky present. Steve sure as fuck _does_ feel guilt when he watches how easily Bucky lies his way through it; explains that he’d been slacking because it was dawning on him that he’d be graduating at the end of the year, and a part of him was rebelling against it because the idea of that big a transition scared him. Steve feels even worse when the convincing story garners Bucky _sympathy_ from his parents.

Yes, it’s a good thing – as is their willingness to be understanding to Bucky’s bullshit plight – because it’s obvious that they’re none-the-wiser. Steve has to pretend to be hearing this explanation for the first time as well and react appropriately. But he’ll be honest: _none_ of those things make him feel quite as disgusting as having to sit there with a poker face in front of Bucky’s _parents_ for almost thirty minutes… To see these people who have a smaller age gap with him than _he_ has with their son.

Their son that he’s fucking.

Their son that he fucked just the evening before.

Mrs. Barnes shakes his hand and thanks him at the end of the meeting, and Steve feels like he’s about to throw up. As they’re walking their son out of the room to head home, Steve collapses heavily back down into his chair, and Bucky glances to him from over his shoulder. There’s genuine concern on Bucky’s face, because he’s not stupid – he knows exactly how that whole ordeal, though done for the best (for them, at least), must’ve made Steve feel. As soon as he’s alone again, Steve drops his head into his hands and questions for the countless time what the fuck he’s doing anymore.

But he still tries not to let that deter his thought process enough to make any rash decisions again. He’s still pleasant to Bucky the following day, and when Bucky drops by after school that afternoon, Steve does his best not to put any of his issues onto Bucky’s shoulders. But Bucky can always tell, and he apologizes in his own way; apologizes for the inner turmoil this is still putting Steve through, even though he’s a grown man and is just as much responsible for this continuing as Bucky is.

He apologizes by trying to remind Steve that what they share is just between them, and they aren’t harming anyone. What they have feels _good_ … Feels perfect, even if they don’t know what it’s called. When he’s got Steve pressed down into the mattress of his bed and Steve watches him from beneath heavy lids, as Bucky tips his head back and moans softly – body undulating against his while he rides his cock until they’re both shuddering – Steve once again lets himself get lost, and all of his troubles disappear for yet another day.

Sometimes, they find little ways to flirt during school hours. It’s usually Bucky who initiates it, since it’s him who almost always initiates everything. But admittedly, even though he probably shouldn’t, Steve will reciprocate, too. If he can get away with it, he’ll text Bucky during the lunch hour. That’s usually never a problem, so long as he isn’t too close to any of his colleagues. If he is, sadly, he has to let his phone vibrate away in his pocket, and Bucky has to settle for the quickest of apologetic glances when Steve first sees him at the beginning of class.

Other things are a _little_ more risky, but Steve can’t lie – that’s part of their appeal. Sometimes, Bucky will hand in a test, or a paper, and on one of the pages, in the lightest of pencil-writing, there’ll be a short little message just for Steve’s eyes. Steve can only reply by peering up at Bucky the moment he reads it, always to find that Bucky’s already waiting for his gaze with a patient little smirk. The glance is always so quick, and Steve’s expression so casual, that no one else would think anything of it.

But Bucky knows Steve well enough by now. _He_ knows what those little glances mean.

Once – and only once – Steve makes a bit of a ballsier choice. He has to ask several students to stay behind for a few minutes to ask them about their topics for an upcoming term paper worth a fair chunk of their final grade. While the others wait, he’ll speak with each student one-on-one. Bucky, ever on the same wavelength as he is, casually makes himself the last person. This way, everyone else is already done and heads home for the day. Bucky smoothly twists the lock on the door when he shuts it, and then saunters over to Steve’s desk.

Bucky’s the only student Steve actually _didn’t_ need to discuss anything with.

There’s talking, which means there’s _flirting_ and _suggestive comments_ and plenty of eye-fucking. Then Steve’s grabbing Bucky and leading him just around the corner of the room where they can’t be seen from the small window on the door. Bucky pushes himself up onto a desk, gets his legs around Steve’s waist, and with his fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair, Steve kisses him breathless. Not even for long, because they’re already pushing it – and they’ve both been doing so well at making school strictly an off-limits place for their affair. It’s probably only twenty or thirty seconds, but it still leaves them both hard as fuck, flushed, and Bucky staring at him with that submissive fucking _glaze_ over his eyes when Steve finally pulls away.

They don’t get caught for that little stunt, and – as already mentioned – it doesn’t happen again. Steve can only chide himself so much for his irresponsibility in doing that, because _fuck_ , that’s probably the hottest, most taboo thing he’s ever done, and who _wouldn’t_ get turned on at the prospect of that? The only part about that particular occasion that absolutely sucked is that Bucky wasn’t able to come by that night, nor able to meet up anywhere private at _all_. So Steve had to handle his sexual frustration all by himself. Bucky took a bit of pity on him and wound up sneaking him a selfie from his bathroom, with his hand around his dick and his teeth worrying his bottom lip – and the image _definitely_ helped get Steve off, even if he immediately had to delete the photo afterwards.

Sadly, all pictures, all calls, all texts, _all of it_ – it always has to go.

They don’t always fool around, actually. To be fair, they fool around every time they’re together, at least once, but that doesn’t make up the _entire_ time. Sometimes, they’ll order some food and watch a movie before one of their hands (usually Bucky’s) will be kneading teasingly between the other’s thighs, and then it’s game over. Other times, Steve will cook more for them. He likes that better because they get to talking while he does it. Sometimes, Bucky helps out; others, he just perches himself on the counter and watches. They laugh together, and learn about each other, and it’s fucking _weird_ … They actually become really great _friends_ , amidst everything they’re doing together.

And that’s all part of the reason why – for as happy and blissful as Steve feels these days – he also continues to only feel more confused. Because… they’re _friends_ , but they’re obviously _more_ than friends – but they aren’t _dating_ , and yet Bucky _clearly_ adores Steve, and Steve has to outright refuse to think of Bucky with anyone else otherwise it makes him outraged. Yet neither of them brings it up. They simply choose not to ever acknowledge the elephant in the room, in favour of continuing on like everything is flawless and nothing can go wrong.

Of course, _that’s_ a colossal fucking understatement. Their affair is forbidden and being kept hidden for a reason, and no matter how much they pretend it doesn’t exist, it’s still there. Something in the back of Steve’s head is always there to remind him that one day, they’re _going_ to have to face it. But he always just retaliates with, _One day – not_ to _day._ Somewhere, between that line of thinking and his inability to stay away from Bucky, Steve unofficially decides that he doesn’t plan to put a stop to this any time soon. He doesn’t need to say it out loud for Bucky to figure it out, and Bucky doesn’t comment on it either. They both just sort of _know_.

So they do their thing, live in their bubble; see each other whenever they can, cover all their steps, and remain innocent as ever to everyone else. Steve has his batches of guilt and Bucky does away with them each and every time. Bucky maintains his social life with his friends, too, and Steve continues to accept invitations from his friends and peers, in order to socialize with people his own age. Within a month, Steve feels like he’s become a master at living a double life. Although, if he’s being honest with himself, he only really cares about _one_ of them nowadays. Any time he’s away from Bucky is only spent either thinking of him or looking forward to when he’ll see him next.

And that’s why it’s so fucking _easy_ for him to get so sucked up in that fantasy land that only consists of them two, that he completely seems to forget the fact that he has absolutely no claim over Bucky. At all. Like, none whatsoever. It’s so messed up, though – because that’s _exactly_ the way he’s been feeling, actually: like Bucky’s _his_ and his alone, even though they most certainly are not dating.

It’s not like Steve’s been seeing anyone else. Although, _really_ , it’s not like he was seeing anyone prior to Bucky barging into his life either. But he’d made the mistake of just sort of… _assuming_ that he was the only person like _that_ in Bucky’s life as well. The way Bucky acts with him – so beautiful and vulnerable and _willing_ and responding to Steve like he’s literally the only thing Bucky could ever want… That sort of thing can’t be faked, can it? Or… replicated? He doesn’t know, but he hadn’t even stopped to consider that maybe it _could_ be.

That maybe Steve isn’t the only person Bucky gives himself to like this.

Steve’s been so wrapped up in this little game of theirs that he never even realized he was taking Bucky for granted, in a way. Because it isn’t until Bucky’s pulling his clothes on one Thursday evening that Steve’s hit in the face with the harsh, unforgiving reality: Bucky’s never been explicitly _his_ , not for a single second that they’ve been doing this. He’s always been completely free to see any and everyone else he wanted to, despite Steve being foolish and just assuming that Bucky _wouldn’t._

It sort of feels more like a legitimate deck to the face than something more forgiving, like a simple slap.

It comes out real casual-like, too: Steve checks his phone after rolling out of his bed and pulling on a pair of sweatpants. Reading his text from his buddy, Logan, reminds Steve that he completely forgot about having plans to go out for a few drinks the following night. It’s not like he and Bucky had already made plans, but he brings it up anyways, just in case. He certainly wouldn’t want Friday to roll around and then leave Bucky disappointed.

But that turns out not to be a problem, because Bucky – tugging his t-shirt over his head – just nonchalantly replies, “Oh, it’s fine. I’m busy anyways.”

At this point, Steve isn’t thinking anything of it. He just strides past Bucky - pausing to cup the side of his neck and kiss his forehead as he walks by to go into the bathroom - and replies, “Oh yeah? That’s good, then. Did you wanna come by on Saturday, or…?”

“Sure,” Bucky says cheerily, bouncing his butt off the side of the mattress so he can pull his socks on, and then his jeans. “I’ve been havin’ a mad craving for Chinese lately, you maybe wanna order some of that?”

Steve’s shoving his toothbrush into his mouth to quickly brush his teeth. He calls back, voice slightly muffled, “Sounds good to me. I bought the new _Planet of the Apes_ movie, if you haven’t seen that yet.”

Bucky’s thumbs tap away off the screen of his iPhone as he sends off a text to someone, and answers, “Oh, cool, I’ve been wantin’ to see that. Andy Serkis gives me a nerd boner.”

Steve laughs to himself, staring at his reflection as he makes quick work of scrubbing his toothbrush over his teeth. His hair is mussed up and he has fresh bite marks littering his shoulders from Bucky latching onto him less than twenty minutes before. After leaning forward to spit, he can’t help but stare at a few and brush his fingers over them. Just as he’s getting a tiny smile, he sees Bucky’s reflection as he enters the bathroom. Bucky sees Steve’s fingers gingerly scraping over a particularly deep set of teeth marks on the joint of his left shoulder, and gets a satiated smile, too.

“Mm, _god_ , you’re amazing,” he murmurs, coming over and wrapping his arms around Steve’s still-naked torso. Steve smiles at him through the mirror and continues to brush his teeth as Bucky hunches forward a little to kiss it, then pepper his way along his shoulder. “Thought I was gonna either pass out or make ya go deaf if you hit my prostate any harder,” he jokes. Resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, they lock eyes in the mirror and share another smile.

Steve spits into the sink again. “You have no idea how sexy you are when you get like that, Buck,” Steve says, now rinsing the toothbrush and then dropping it back in its holder. He straightens and then turns around to lean back onto the counter. This way, he’s able to wrap his own arms around Bucky’s waist and pull him in properly. Giving him a lazy kiss, he adds, “I like when you bite me. Lets me know I’m doing my job right.”

“Fuck yeah you are,” Bucky breathes, lifting his arms to wrap them around Steve’s neck and pull him in for a deeper kiss. They stay pressed to each other for a minute or two; tongues beating and Bucky sighing softly into his mouth. If he keeps it up, Steve’s going to be riled up and ready to go another round.

He actually finds himself groaning when Bucky finally ends it. Eyes still closed and their foreheads pressed together, he jokingly asks, “You _sure_ you can’t stay a little longer?”

Bucky grins and tilts his chin up for another quick kiss. “Sorry, Teach, ‘fraid not,” he says. “Promised I’d be home for dinner. We’re takin’ my little sister out for her birthday.” Steve can’t argue with that, so he releases a mock sigh and then nods, muttering, “ _Fiiine_.” Looking up, Bucky playfully smoothes down his hair so it’s not as messy from earlier, before pulling away and beckoning Steve downstairs so he can get his shoes on. Steve leans against the wall, arms casually folded, and watches him.

“Whatcha got planned tomorrow night, anyways?” he asks curiously – mainly just to make a bit more conversation before he goes. “Something with Natasha?” He can’t help it that that’s the first person his mind automatically goes to, since she and Bucky are practically always joined at the hip at school. From conversation and learning about Bucky’s life, Steve knows the two are like brother and sister.

But that’s when Bucky just shrugs one shoulder, still staring down at where he’s hastily tying his laces, and replies as if it’s the most _inconsequential_ thing in the world:

“Nah, m’going on a date.”

It’s so unexpected that Steve’s face goes blank, and he’s certain he just misheard that. It’s such a farfetched notion to him – comes so deeply out of left field – that he feels like a bit of an idiot when he blinks, finds his tongue somewhere still in his mouth, and dumbly asks, “A date?”

“Yeah, with my buddy Clint,” Bucky explains – _still_ not seeming to pick up in the slightest that Steve would _clearly_ have a problem with this new piece of information. “I noticed he’d been actin’ weird around me a lot since grade twelve started, and when I finally asked him about it, he admitted that he liked me. Asked me to a movie, then to hang out at his place,” Bucky says, straightening up to now pull his jacket off the hanger in the closet. Glancing to Steve from over his shoulder, he shrugs again and then finishes with the obvious: “I said yes.”

Steve has absolutely _no_ idea what to say. His brain sort of feels like it’s short-circuited and all it can do is flash the same Error message over and over. His arms uncross and hang awkwardly by his sides as he straightens away from the wall. He isn’t sure what his face looks like at the moment, but the muscles of his jaw hurt, so he guesses he’s frowning pretty hard.

While sliding his arms into his coat, Bucky takes a look at his face, his brows slowly furrowing. “I mean – that’s not a problem, is it?” he asks, sounding careful. His grey eyes narrow the slightest bit. “It’s just a date, it’s not like I’m suddenly gonna be _datin’_ him or nothing.” He quickly finishes pulling on his jacket. Approaching Steve quickly, Bucky looks genuinely _worried_ now as he reaches up and cups both sides of Steve’s face.

Steve feels betrayed by him, and he doesn’t even know _why_. He knows he’s petty for even feeling that way in the first place.

“Hey, if you don’t want me to go, just tell me,” Bucky says. “I can tell him no; I’m sure he’ll understand. I don’t wanna upset you – if you’d rather I cancel, I’ll cancel. Just tell me, Steve.”

Steve only finds his voice enough for his thoughts to start _screaming_ away in his brain: reminding him all over again that Bucky isn’t his boyfriend, and therefore Steve has no right to tell him who he can and cannot see in terms of dating. Bucky’s not his, and he’s not Bucky’s. They don’t belong to each other – not exclusively, that’s for sure. If Bucky said yes, then obviously there’s a part of him that’s interested in his friend Clint, and a part of him that _wanted_ to go on this date.

This is one of those times where Steve convinces himself that he needs to do the right thing and respect Bucky’s choice. So he just sets his jaw, does his best to wipe the frown from his face, and tries to sound convincing and _not in any way bothered_ – not jealous at _all_ – when he replies, “I’m fine with it. Have fun.”

Bucky pauses. The worry on his face literally _vanishes_ and is replaced with confusion, as well as a hint of disbelief. Bucky leans away a bit to better assess Steve’s demeanour, and he narrows his eyes again. “You’re fine with it,” he repeats back skeptically.

Steve shrugs one shoulder. “Yep, why wouldn’t I be?” he replies. Forcing himself to smile and give a little chuckle, he adds, “It’s not like I own you or anything. You’re not _mine_ , Buck. I know I’m not your boyfriend. You’re allowed to do whatever the hell you want. So have fun.”

For a second, Bucky’s expression is unreadable. But then his eyes are hardening the slightest bit, and the smile he gives Steve is strange. “Alright then,” he says, nodding. “Good… Good to know. Glad to know you’re cool with it. I _will_ have fun, don’t you worry.” Still smiling at him, and Steve feeling progressively more uncomfortable the longer he’s stared at like that, Bucky’s smile then _expands_ and he says, “See you tomorrow, Steve.” His voice sounds weirdly flat.

The kiss he gives Steve is chaste at first, but… he still _kissed_ him, right? Steve thinks he’s only getting one, but when he goes to lean away, Bucky just surges back in and kisses him harder – like he’s trying to prove a point. After nipping Steve’s bottom lip hard enough to make Steve gasp unexpectedly, Bucky backs off and then curtly says, “Have a good one.”

He turns without looking back anymore, opens the front door, and leaves, shutting it behind him. Steve just stands there, staring at where Bucky had just been. He has no idea what just happened, but he knows he sure as fuck doesn’t like the way his insides are feeling. Now all he’s going to be doing for the next twenty-four hours – maybe fucking _longer_ – is imagining every possible scenario for how Bucky’s little date is going to go.

His skin’s already feeling hot with jealousy, with anger. Also with shame – that, too…

 _You don’t have any right to be possessive of him_ , his brain repeats for the millionth time.

That’s right. He knows that. Bucky’s not his, and he’s not Bucky’s. They don’t belong to each other. Steve’s just being a selfish asshole and doesn’t want to share, like some sort of spoiled child.

_Bucky’s not mine, and I’m not Bucky’s._

Sighing miserably, he turns and leaves the front entrance… Knowing deep down that it only hurts so badly because Bucky may not be _his_ , but the same probably can’t be said about Steve.

Much as he tried not to let it happen, he’s Bucky’s. He has been since the first time he let Bucky into his home; ruined Steve’s life and made it so much better.

 _Bucky’s not mine, but I’m his_ …

And there’s nothing he can do about it.

* * *

The next day, Steve is completely on edge. He feels sick to his stomach all morning, and by the afternoon when it’s time to see Bucky, he only feels worse. He’s a professional, though, so he doesn’t let what’s happening on the inside affect his exterior. Except that he’s either being extremely paranoid, or Bucky’s not looking at him as much today – and that only makes things one-hundred percent worse. 

They have a synopsis on their latest chapter due, and right after the bell rings, they all file over to his desk to drop it off before heading out to enjoy their weekend. Bucky’s got his phone out in his right hand; thumb tapping away and his grey eyes glued to the screen. He isn’t smiling, but he doesn’t look upset or anything either. Steve’s thankful that there are still other students too close to them, because it gives him the perfect excuse needed _not_ to give into the urge to childishly ask if Bucky’s texting his date.

Bucky doesn’t even look at him when he places his paper down on the pile. All he does is distractedly mutter, “Have a good weekend, Teach,” and then he’s out of the room. It feels like Bucky’s mad at him; Steve doesn’t have any other possible explanation for his cold behaviour. He’s not oblivious – he knows _something’s_ up. This is too much of an extreme contrast to Bucky’s demeanour with him thus far to possibly be justified by anything else. Steve just has no idea what he did.

He leaves the school and heads home feeling a frustrating combination of guilty and annoyed. As the afternoon turns into evening, that guilt only evokes _more_ annoyance in him, because _what reason exactly did Bucky have to be pissed at_ him _for?_ Bucky’s the one going on a date. _Bucky’s_ the one who apparently wants someone else. All Steve did was give him what he wanted: his complete and utter blessing. It’s not like Steve would’ve been in the right to demand anything less, and truth be told, Bucky’s acceptance to go in the first place sort of tells Steve everything he needed to know.

He _was_ a passing phase. Bucky got what he wanted out of him and is now he wants more variety again, clearly. It’s a very disheartening place to be in; Steve feels like, after everything Bucky’s gotten Steve to share with him, he _does_ have some sort of right to be hurt at knowing that he’s apparently not enough now. At the same time, he can only really feel validated in thinking that way if they were actually dedicated to each other – which they never really were. Not on paper.

Not even so much in words. Moaning each other’s names and clinging to each other through their climaxes didn’t equate to being loyal to one another only, no matter _how_ intimate things felt between them from the get-go. If it did, the whole world would just be one giant fucking contradiction.

He isn’t going out to meet Sam, Logan, and the others until almost nine o’clock. And no matter how hard he tries, staring at the clock doesn’t will time to pass by any faster. Steve tries to distract himself by cleaning up his house and starting a load of laundry, but all he can really achieve is driving himself crazy over wondering if Bucky’s on his date yet. Eventually, that starts to get to him, too, because Steve doesn’t like that feeling. He was never the jealous type, nor the possessive type. In fact, he was always the one who’d feel disgusted when he heard about people trapped in relationships where their partner tracked their every move; never let them out of their sight without some sort of guilt trip.

He doesn’t ever want to become one of those people, so he devotes a solid two hours in his basement with the TV blaring as he loses himself in a workout. Steve had never known another outlet that freed his mind and gave him a release from the loudness in his brain like he did whenever he exercised. (Well, until he slept with Bucky…) For those precious two hours – while he tires his arms out with push-ups and weight-lifting, does enough crunches that he has to _stop_ when it actually becomes physically painful to continue, and gets a happy amount of cardio in – he’s in his personal zone, and doesn’t have to think about anything.

Of course, that all comes to an abrupt end the second he heads back upstairs to take a shower. One non-committal glance at his reflection in the mirror, and he’s stopping in his tracks to take a better look at the sight of him: hair damp and matted to his forehead, sweat drenching his skin, chest still slightly flushed from the exertion, and muscles straining… And, of course, a couple of those extra deep teeth marks Bucky had chewed into him the day before.

He looks pretty much exactly like how he looks whenever he and Bucky finish fucking. In fact, it’s almost impossible _not_ to associate himself looking like this with the feel of Bucky’s body pressed to his, or the smell of Bucky’s skin, or the way he sounds when he cries out, or the look in his eyes when they’re glued to Steve’s.

Steve grimaces at his reflection. His thoughts are nothing but two sides screaming back and forth at each other – the one that desperately wants to be with Bucky right now; that just can’t stop obsessing over what he’s currently up to, if he’s smiling at Clint the way he smiles at Steve, if Clint will get to taste Bucky’s lips by the time the night’s over. ( _He can’t even bring himself to imagine Clint getting to taste anything else…_ ) And then there’s the other side that is actually angry at how immature Steve’s letting himself be.

He’s plummeted off the edge and fallen way too deep into this – whatever this is. He can’t have his cake and eat it, too; can’t refuse to make things more official with Bucky but then _also_ refuse to let him see other people on top of that. That wouldn’t be fair to Bucky. Steve’s being a selfish prick and a real asshole – but _goddamnit_ , the thought of Bucky with someone else is hurting him too fucking much to be ignored.

He does the only thing he logically feels is the right solution: he gives Bucky his space. He doesn’t get weird or anything on him and text him all night. Actually, he doesn’t text him at all, and Bucky doesn’t text him either. Before heading out, Steve tells himself that he needs to grow up and start acting like the adult again. That means, if Bucky wants to continue with the way things are and keep sleeping with Steve, Steve won’t argue him on it. And if Bucky wants to continue to see other people at the same time, good for him. Steve won’t make a big deal about that, either; won’t even ask about it. Clearly, things will fizzle out with time, because this is probably indicative that – for Bucky – they’re already starting to. And maybe it’ll kill Steve inside for a while, but this was never meant to be from the start, so he’ll do what grown-ups do and move on.

The world always keeps spinning, after all.

It’s nice to have some drinks with friends that night, because admittedly, it takes Steve’s mind off of it a _little_. And he hasn’t gotten to see Logan in almost six months, since his friend had decided to move back to Canada. They catch up and shoot the shit; Logan asks if Steve’s got himself a new girlfriend yet, and Steve has his first moment of pain shooting through his heart as his thoughts sidetrack to Bucky. But he just gives Logan an easygoing smile, shakes his head with a shrug, and replies, “Nope. Haven’t been looking lately.”

“Too shy or too scared?” Logan teases in that gruff manner of his.

“Too _busy_ ,” Steve says.

As if that’s the cue to end all cues, Sam picks that moment to come back over to their booth. A friend of his from University had caught his eye, and he’d excitedly excused himself to go say hi to her. Now, he’s got her by his side as he rejoins them. Steve instantly feels apprehension when the first person Sam looks to is _him._

“Gentlemen,” he says to Steve, Logan, and the few others that’ve joined them that night, “this is my friend, Sharon Carter - an absolute _pro_ at pool, so… I wouldn’t play her if money’s on the line, guys.”

“Really?” Tony challenges, already getting a competitive little smirk on his face. He leans forward, resting his weight on his elbow. “You _also_ the kind of lady who’s willing to accept a friendly bet?”

“That depends,” she replies coolly, giving him a (beautiful) smirk. “You the kind of guy who doesn’t mind getting his ass handed to him – _in public_ – by a lady willing to take a ‘friendly bet’?”

The guys all heckle “ _Ooh_ ” goadingly as they stare back to Tony – absolutely _loving_ this woman’s sass, and her ability to put Tony in his place so quickly. Tony’s never one to back down so easily, though, so he just flags down a waitress so Sharon can order a drink and promises her that they’ll see who can make good on their word by the end of the night.

It’s Sam’s suggestion that Sharon sit next to Steve.

Steve tries his best, he _really_ does. There’s actually a big part of him that desperately wants to hit it off with her so that it can prove to him that his feelings for Bucky aren’t that serious. He needs it. And as the hours drain away, they talk – sometimes amongst the table, but more often, just between the two of them – and Steve discovers that Sharon is a brilliant woman. He likes the sound of her laugh, and she’s gorgeous. She’s confident, knows who she is, and isn’t intimidated by much, from the way she handles herself with the others. Truth be told, in terms of Steve’s taste in women, she’s pretty much the ‘type’ he’s always been the most attracted to (if he tried to narrow down a ‘type’).

If he’d met her two months _earlier_ , it would probably be a match made in heaven.

Except…

Except it doesn’t feel right. Bucky keeps creeping back into his thoughts, no matter how much Steve tries to will him away. All it’ll take is _one_ second to lapse in their conversation without something spoken, and he’s wondering what Bucky’s doing on his date. He tries to tell himself that he’s better off putting his efforts into someone his own age; better suited for him, like Sharon. He also tries to tell himself that Bucky’s with someone tonight that’s _his_ own age, and Steve should be happy for him. He should be condoning that; god knows that’s what he _would’ve_ done back when all this first started.

But Bucky’s crawled under his skin and seeped into his veins. And sure, _maybe_ Steve can play it cool to Bucky’s face, and _maybe_ he can pretend it doesn’t bother him until things between them eventually end, and _maybe_ he can do all of that without Bucky catching on that Steve’s lying through his teeth. But one thing he can’t do is pursue this woman solely in the hopes of her taking Bucky’s place. Steve can’t think of a single person who would deserve being someone else’s replacement – or, at the very least, an attempt at a distraction. Despite everything Steve’s done lately, that’s too low even for him.

So when Sharon asks him if he’d like to have dinner sometime, he gives her an apologetic smile and asks if he can speak to her in private, away from where they’re currently surrounded by all of Steve’s friends. Once he gets her aside, he thanks her for the wonderful conversation and admits that he finds her very beautiful. However, he then says, “But I’m not in a place right now where I can date… I’m just too busy, and what with my job and everything, I just… Any time you spend on me would just be a waste.”

She gives him a small smile, but there’s still a hint of disappointment on her face all the same. “I highly doubt any time with you would be a waste,” she says. But then she nods. “But I appreciate your honesty, even if it _is_ a bit of a bummer. Not often you find nice guys like yourself in New York anymore.”

Steve smiles in spite of himself. “Trust me, there are plenty more than you think,” he says. “Besides… with everything going on with me right now, I’m doing you a favour by not getting you involved with it.”

“How can you know for sure unless you let someone try?” she counters, although Steve can hear in her tone that she’s asking more out of curiosity than trying to push. Her eyes narrow and her smile gets a little teasing. “Maybe some people would _want_ to risk getting involved with it. Maybe they’d think you could be worth it?”

“Well, I appreciate that. I just… I dunno,” he says, shaking his head. His smile simmers down into something self-deprecating, and he looks away, trying to keep things light between them. Sharon _is_ a cool person; someone he wouldn’t mind having a friendship with, if it’d be in the cards. He doesn’t want to alienate her completely with his pity party, just… set the line in the sand so no one gets their hopes up. “I think for now it’s best if I keep my distance from the whole ‘dating’ thing,” he chooses to say, looking back to her.

She gives him a small, unassuming nudge. “Well, hopefully not _too_ far,” she replies. “Who knows? Maybe once things settle down for you, if you’re still interested, that is, we could revisit the idea of dinner. If not, a cup of coffee as friends would be just as nice.”

Her smile is approachable and genuine, and it makes Steve’s own grow back. “I’d like that,” he tells her. Glancing back to their table, he then says, “Anyways, I think I’m gonna head out, so… I should say bye to everyone. Hey, when you kick Tony’s ass, please remember every single detail so you can tell me all about it one day,” he jokes, glancing her way again.

“You got it,” Sharon promises. “It was nice to meet you, Steve.”

“You too, Sharon. Have a good rest of your night.”

They say goodnight, and then Steve stops over at the table to say his goodbyes to everyone there. They give him a surprised, indignant look and demand to know why he’s bailing so early, to which Steve laughs and answers that it’s almost one-thirty in the morning and he’s exhausted from work. When Sam raises his brows questioningly and tips his head in Sharon’s direction with a curious smile, Steve just rolls his eyes with one of his own and shakes his head. Sam just waves Steve off with a loud, “ _Agghhh_ ” sound, tisking him. But he extends his hand for Steve to slap all the same before he heads out.

Because he knew he’d be drinking, Steve hadn’t driven his bike out to the bar, so he hails himself a cab. His hand’s practically twitching to reach for his phone and text Bucky, but he keeps forcing himself not to give into the urge. It feels like the longest cab ride of his entire life. After he arrives home, he makes himself a late night snack before brushing his teeth and stripping down to nothing but his boxers. Before climbing into bed, though, he plugs in his iPhone, and that’s when he sees that he’s got a missed text from Bucky.

It’s clocked in as having been sent to him a little over an hour earlier. Maybe Steve’s been spending too much time around him, or talking to him too frequently, but he can read the tone in Bucky’s texts the same way he can tell if something’s off in Bucky’s body language. Bucky’s text isn’t the usual way he would talk to Steve like this, but the fact that he texted him at all is still more of a relief than it should be.

**_We still on to hang out tomorrow night?_ **

Steve hates himself for the fact that hearing from Bucky tonight eases so much of the anxiety that’d been welling up in his chest all fucking day. There are so many things he wants to say and questions he wants to ask, but he won’t do it; he made himself a resolution. So he just types back, **_If you still want to, ya_** , and presses ‘Send’.

About five minutes later, his phone vibrates. The message preview on his screen shows Bucky’s reply: **_K. See you around 8._**

About ten seconds later and a second message in a row comes in: **_Miss you. Goodnight x_**

 ** _Miss you too. Hope you had a good night_** , Steve texts back; _lies_. **_See you tomorrow._**

Steve falls asleep with his phone resting on the pillow where Bucky usually sleeps – just in case he texted back anything else. It’s pathetic, but… having been able to talk to Bucky even _that_ much, even in light of everything, makes it a lot easier for him to fall asleep.

* * *

The best way to describe the following week is: weird. 

Things feel _weird_ between him and Bucky.

Maybe it’s because Steve knows that he’s faking his apathy – the whole _not caring about Bucky seeing Clint_ thing – but it seems like Bucky’s tiptoeing around things, too. Deliberately.

Bucky comes over the following night, just like he said he would, but neither of them bring up Clint. It’s like the one topic they’re both absolutely aiming to avoid. Steve refuses to ask and Bucky refuses to offer up any details willingly. It’s slightly awkward at first between them, until Steve remembers his new plan of action. The moment he throws on a cheery, unbothered air to him, Bucky’s following suit. Then it’s as if they’re right back to the way they were just a couple days before, except they both know better.

They still fuck that night, too. For all intents and purposes, it goes exactly the way it always has between them, and yet something seems off. Steve knows what it is – or at least, he thinks he does. Neither of them comment on it, though.

And that’s basically how they carry on over the week that follows: during the day, Bucky’s a little more closed off around him, though there are still plenty of times where the subtle flirtation continues as normal. A few nights during that time, Bucky still comes over, and they eat dinner, or watch a movie, or whatnot. They always sleep together. Since they’re all school nights, Bucky never stays past about eleven p.m. Other nights, however, he’ll be out with Clint because _he’s still fucking seeing Clint_. Steve therefore doesn’t really _need_ to ask how their initial date went because the answer’s plain as day. If Bucky’s getting together with him some more, it must’ve gone well. On those nights, _if_ Steve sends him a text, it’ll take hours for Bucky to reply.

That irritates Steve to high hell and back, but still, they don’t talk about it. Steve will just miserably stew in it and wonder how far Bucky’s gotten with this guy, as his inner battle wages on and Steve continues not knowing what he’s supposed to do. The simplest answer would be to straight-up put an end to it. When he’d tried it twice before, they were for entirely different reasons than this. He did it because he’d been scared; thought it was the safest choice for both of them. If he ended it now, it’d partially have to do with him being pissed (spare his own pitiful feelings in the long run) and partially to outright give Bucky his freedom.

Even though… well, even though it’s not even Steve’s to really give him anyways. _Fuck._

The colossal fucking problem in this plan is that Steve can’t actually do it. He’d promised Bucky he’d only put a stop to things if _he_ no longer wanted it. He still wants it, heartache and his twisting gut and all. Maybe he could’ve been stronger if this was back at the very start again, but it’s too late for that now. Bucky lured him in and gave Steve taste after taste; bringing to life not just his body but his mind, too… His soul… Steve’s completely addicted to this kid and trust, if he _knew_ how to turn that switch off, right now he probably would.

Having Bucky but knowing he doesn’t _completely_ have him is ripping Steve apart.

But he just does the only thing he feels he can do, which is to suck it up and deal with it without complaining to Bucky about it; keeps repeating that _can’t have my cake and eat it too_ mantra to keep himself in check. At the very least, he’s actually a little bit grateful that he doesn’t have to hear the details. However frustrated not knowing makes him, _actually_ knowing would probably just make it worse. Then he’d have confirmation, and mental images to go along with it, and _no thanks._

Steve tries – he really fucking tries. He keeps calm and goes about his life in front of everyone else like all is perfectly fine. He and Bucky still laugh together; talk, bond, and fuck. _Sometimes_ Steve comes close to no longer being able to bite his tongue and considers that maybe it’d be more easily resolved if they _did_ sit down and have a mature discussion about it. At least Steve would then know for sure where Bucky stands on things. What always holds him back, though, is not wanting to come off demanding or possessive. Their whole ‘relationship’ is already built on questionable grounds as it is; Steve being so much older would paint him in a negative light to the rest of the world, _without_ him then being obsessive and acting like _he’s_ the immature teenager on top of all that.

The confusing part is that here and there, it almost feels like Bucky’s sitting there, when they both happen to be in silence, and _waiting_ for Steve to bring it up or ask about Clint. It never lasts long – that little sense Steve gets when it happens – but every time it ends, that’s when Bucky seems to stiffen the most; seems the most annoyed with Steve, even though he’ll keep smiling and talking as if none of this phases him.

Then it hits a ceiling and that ceiling concaves in – because, really, it was only a matter of time.

Clint goes to the same school, too. So the fact that Steve actually hasn’t ever seen him interact with Bucky is surprising (even though Steve secretly counts it more as a _blessing_ ). Exactly a week later, the following Friday, Steve sees them together for the first time.

It’s lunch time, but with only about five minutes left to spare before third period starts. Steve’s coming from the ground floor, where the teacher’s lounge is, and he’s finishing the cup of coffee in his hand that he’d run out to grab from Starbucks. Rounding the corner, he isn’t thinking much of anything as he gulps down another sip – and then he falters in his step when a little ways down the hall, he sees Bucky leaning casually against a locker. There’s a guy slightly shorter than him standing in front of him, but with the way he’s angled, all Steve can see is the back of a head of short, sandy brown hair. He knows regardless that it’s Clint Barton.

Steve knows who Clint is, because he taught him a couple years prior. He’s a good kid, always has been – doesn’t apply himself as much academically, but he excels in the physical stuff. He’s one of Sam’s favourite students because Clint’s easily the best archery student their school has ever seen. Some of the teachers suspect that it’s because, having been born partially deaf, many of Clint’s other senses are sharper than average.

Steve may not know him as well as some of his other students, but he’s always had good standing with Clint; in the past, if they passed each other, Clint would hold up his hand and call out, “Sup, Mr. Rogers?” Steve would greet him with a smile and high-five him, and then the two would carry on their ways. When Steve had taught him, Clint always had a random, neat fact about birds to share. He’s a sweet kid with good intentions.

So he knows that none of this is Clint’s fault, and he certainly isn’t worthy of being the target of Steve’s current flare of anger. He doesn’t know what Clint’s saying, but his head is tipping from side to side with conversation, and Bucky’s staring back at him intently with a bright grin on his face. His head tips back a few seconds later with a laugh, and that’s when Steve notices Clint step in a little closer… Casually raises his hand and rests it on Bucky’s hip. Bucky’s grin simmers into a regular smile and he nods in response to whatever it is Clint says.

Steve feels like someone’s just punched their fist into his chest, grabbed his heart, and ripped it straight out of his body. Simultaneously, _whatever_ that thing is that Bucky always pushes out of him when they’re intimate – that overwhelming, almost _dark_ desire to have Bucky all to himself and shield him from the rest of the world… Protect him like he’s Steve’s and Steve’s alone to protect… It hits him full force. His pulse quickens while his chest feels tight, like he wants to cry, but _there’s no fucking way he’d do such a thing_. No, that’d be ridiculous – completely fucked up, because that’d mean he cares on a deeper level than he was ever allowed to. At the same time, ‘livid’ doesn’t even begin to cover what’s currently inching its way up his spine and making his skin feel like it’s crawling.

Realizing that he can’t just stand there in the middle of the hall like a jackass, he forces his feet to carry on moving and keeps walking. Unfortunately, his classroom is _past_ them, just around the corner – meaning that Steve has to physically go by them in order to get where he needs to go. To be fair, he could always just turn around and take the long way but that seems pathetic. He’s a grown man and what he and Bucky did was never the result of anything _real_ , because it never could be given their circumstances. That’s exactly what he kept telling himself and now he’s going to face it, because he’s not a coward.

Keeping his head held high – _and reminding himself over and over that none of this is Clint’s fault; he didn’t do anything wrong_ – Steve keeps his gaze off of them and straight ahead as he walks by. It’s only right as he’s about to pass them that his eyes flicker over to Bucky.

At the same time, Bucky sees Steve in his peripherals; his own eyes diverting from Clint and straight to him. For a second, Bucky’s lips part slightly and his eyes widen just the tiniest bit – like he genuinely didn’t expect to see Steve see _them_ and now he doesn’t know what to do. Steve holds his gaze, likewise not knowing fuck all either in terms of what to do except _keep walking_. But then Bucky’s breaking eye contact with him and looking back to Clint, who’s still talking. Bucky’s smile returns and he lets out a small chuckle, as if he hadn’t seen Steve at all.

Scowling, Steve just stares ahead again and doesn’t stop walking until he’s made it to his desk.

* * *

“Sir?” 

It’s Bucky’s voice. Though Steve doesn’t look up from where he’s putting his things into his case, the tone surprises him. It’s softer – almost tentative. _Worried_. Bucky hasn’t sounded like that since before he first told Steve about his date. Steve’s sick for having missed that tone. It sends the tiniest, _pleased_ shiver up his spine, but he ignores it.

“What is it, Mr. Barnes?” he asks formally, gathering up the papers for the day’s lesson plan and stacking them neatly off the top of his desk. The day’s just ended and everyone else has just finished leaving, so it’s just him and Bucky. All the same, when Bucky doesn’t answer right away, he glances up at him – face passive and indecipherable – and calmly presses, “Can I help you with something?”

Bucky tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack. Frowning, he glances quickly to the opened door and then looks back to him, saying quietly, “Look, _Steve_ , I’m… What you saw earlier, it wasn’t what it looked it. I just – I don’t want you thinkin’--”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Steve cuts in, giving him a hollow smile. He’s still trying; _Jesus Christ_ , is he ever still trying to keep up this façade, no matter how difficult it’s proving to be at the moment. “You were having a conversation with your friend. It’s none of my business.”

“Well, you’re clearly pissed about it,” Bucky says, looking like he feels genuinely awful.

“No, I’m not.”

“You think I don’t know you well enough by now? Yes, you _are_.”

“Bucky, that’s enough. Drop it. I said I’m not, so leave it alone.”

Bucky bites his lip, tapping his foot anxiously off the floor, very evidently wanting to say more. Steve closes up his case and then stands. After pushing in his chair, he straightens and looks to Bucky expectantly, waiting for him to make a move to leave the room so Steve can lock up. But Bucky just maintains his gaze before glancing to the door again, then back to Steve, and whispering quickly, “Look, m’sorry, okay? I don’t want you to be mad at me. The thing with Clint, it’s – I mean – ‘kay, _look_ , that means nothin’. Okay? I’m _really_ sorry you saw that.” Eyes averting downward, he adds quietly, “I would’a felt like shit if I saw you like that with anyone else.”

Yes, those words are what Steve wants to hear, and yes, he wants to be having this discussion – but not _here_. Not right now, where anyone could walk by and see them. Or worse, hear in on what’s being said. Steve looks from Bucky to the doorway nervously and then mutters, “Can we talk about this later? I want to, I just – we can’t do this here.”

Bucky sighs, shoulders sagging as he nods reluctantly. “Fine,” he says, still staring at the ground. He sounds so discouraged when he asks, “Did you still want to see me later?” that Steve’s heart aches. That protective instinct in his revs back up instinctually. But they really _can’t_ do any of this right now.

So he nods and replies, “Of course I do. I’ll see you around five-thirty, like we said. Alright?”

Bucky nods again. They head out, saying nothing else and turning in separate directions once out of the classroom. The entire drive home, Steve replays Bucky’s words: _that means nothin’, that means nothin’, that means nothin’, I would’a felt like shit if I saw you like that with anyone else..._ The problem is that he _saw_ Bucky with Clint, and that didn’t look like nothing. It looked more like there was an actual mutual attraction between them.

So what the fuck was Steve supposed to do now? Deny Bucky the right to be with someone he seems to like, just to make Steve happy? If anything, it just makes Steve feel even more adamant about needing to let Bucky have his space, his freedom – no matter how much it may hurt.

Maybe Steve’s a masochist. It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t realize something about himself until Bucky somehow made it plainly obvious to him.  

It’s more than obvious that Steve’s troubled and still decently tense from the situation when Bucky finally shows up a couple hours later. In an attempt to keep himself distracted and maybe provide a scapegoat from them actually talking about it, he’s already in the middle of starting dinner when he hears his front door open, then close. Chopping up peppers, he hears Bucky kick his shoes off and then lock the front door like he always does, before hanging up his coat and heading for the kitchen.

“Hey,” Bucky says, lingering a few feet away.

“Hey,” Steve replies, giving him a small, polite glance over his shoulder before looking back down to the green pepper in hand. “I hope you don’t mind stir fry.”

“I love stir fry… Thanks. You didn’t have to cook for me. We could’ve just ordered in,” Bucky says, sounding like he’s trying to approach this entire conversation somehow _delicately_. Steve doesn’t reply at first – just keeps cutting – so Bucky moves from the opened frame to go hoist himself up onto his usual spot atop the counter opposite him.

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve eventually says with a shrug. “I was in the mood to cook, and you know the old saying: ‘Nothing like a home-cooked meal’ or whatever.”

The conversation from there on out is stilted. They both know what’s hanging in the air, but Steve’s certainly not going to bring it up. If they happen to look to each other, Steve will offer an attempt at a smile, but after the whole hallway thing earlier, his heart’s just not in it right now. He feels exhausted, really. Bucky doesn’t return it most times; just stares at Steve with slightly widened eyes and his left cheek sucked in. He must be chewing on it, which he only does when he feels guilty or concerned.

It’s when Steve’s about to start handling the chicken that Bucky breaks the silence:

“You know… If seeing me with someone else makes you jealous, you should just say so.”

Steve stills, lifting his gaze to stare ahead of him at the wall. With his back still to Bucky, he resumes moving and starts gliding the blade in his hand through the chicken, slicing it up into strips. “I told you I was fine, Buck,” he replies evenly.

“You’re lying.”

Steve scoffs to himself. “Right, ‘cause you know exactly what I’m thinking.”

He’s met with silence for a few seconds. But when Bucky speaks again, he sounds annoyed. “I seriously don’t get you sometimes,” he complains. “One second you’re telling me you don’t care, but then you turn around and act all butthurt about it.”

Steve cuts faster. “Yeah? Well, I’ve only been acting as weird as _you’ve_ been acting.”

“I haven’t been acting weird. That’s just been _all_ fuckin’ you.”

That makes Steve huff a humourless chuckle under his breath. Shaking his head, he retorts, “Alright, whatever you say, Bucky.”

“I said I was sorry for what happened earlier, but you’re still clearly hung up on it,” Bucky keeps arguing. “What else am I supposed to say? Do you want me to apologize again? ‘Cause I will.”

“No, Buck, I don’t,” Steve says, sighing. Putting down the knife, he scoops up the chicken and dumps it into the frying pain settled on one of the elements. Then he goes to the sink to wash his hands. He can feel Bucky’s eyes on him the entire time. Eventually, when he’s shutting off the tap, he holds Bucky’s stare and says, “ _What_.”

“I’m tryin’ to figure out what you want me to do here!” Bucky snaps, throwing his hands in the air.

“You don’t have to do _anything_ , I said I’m fine!” Steve insists stubbornly, trying to keep his voice neutral. The last thing he wants out of this is for it to turn into a fight. But Bucky just will _not_ let it go; keeps pushing and pushing on it, like he’s trying to force some sort of confession out of Steve. Steve’s trying to take the passive approach, but it’s as if Bucky’s refusing to let it happen this time.

It’s _still_ going on like this by the time the sauce is ready and the chicken’s perfectly cooked. Steve turns off the stove while Bucky’s _still_ talking – still pushing – from behind him. Steve’s doing his best to stay calm, but Bucky is deliberately pressing every button he knows Steve has to dig at him into talking. Steve grabs two plates from the cupboard and loudly places them down on the empty patch of counter space next to the stove.

“Jesus Christ, do you not know when to stop?” he all but shouts, whipping around to face Bucky. “It’s like you’re _looking_ for a fight! I said I’m fine, I said I didn’t care – so what do _you_ want from _me!?_ Like, fuck, Bucky – all you’ve done since you came in here was jump down my throat!"

“Because you’re not bein’ fuckin’ honest with me!” Bucky says with frustration. Then a bitter little sneer twists up his mouth and he looks off, nodding to himself. Shrugging, he cruelly threatens, “But fine – if you don’t care so much, maybe I should just call up Clint and go see _him_ tonight. I bet he’s not doing anything.”

Steve’s face flares, and there goes his heart rate again just at the mere mention. His jaw feels tense and he’s outright glaring at Bucky. His voice is low and shaky, a desperate attempt to contain itself when he replies, “You know what? Get out. Leave. If that’s your big plan – to deliberately try and make me jealous the second I’m not giving you what you want, then…” Shaking his head, he looks away before grabbing the second plate and shoving it back into the cupboard. “I’m not playing your little fucking head games anymore.”

“Games – what games?” Bucky shoots back, faking obliviousness. Steve knows that _Bucky_ knows exactly what he’s talking about. Still, the brunet shrugs and dumbly says, “I thought you said you didn’t care _what_ I did or _who_ I saw, so… what’s the problem?”

Steve approaches him quickly; so unexpectedly that even Bucky looks temporarily unsure of what’s coming. But all Steve does is shove his hand into Bucky’s pant pocket and pull out his iPhone. Grabbing Bucky’s hand, Steve turns the brunet’s palm up and shoves his phone into it. Looking at him with anger and _hurt_ and everything along those lines blazing in his eyes, Steve stares unblinking and mutters, “You wanna call him? Call him. No, you wanna try and use that as a threat towards me? Go see him, _go_ \- you know where the door is.”

He turns and leaves the kitchen, fists clenched by his sides. It takes all of about a second before he hears Bucky’s feet hit the floor and suddenly Bucky’s following, calling to him, “Steve, _wait_.” His phone isn’t in his hand anymore when he catches up to him with just a few quick steps and grabs his arm to stop him. Steve wants to pull away from his grasp, but he doesn’t, and he wishes he knew why Bucky makes him so weak inside. All he can do is stop moving and spin around slightly from the pull to face him. He looks to Bucky, but his expression is guarded.

Bucky reaches up and cups his face, starting to step in close. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, sincerely. “That was a dick thing for me to say – completely stupid, I… Please forget I said that, okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have used that against you, that--” He sighs, momentarily looking off. “That wouldn’t have been fair to you _or_ Clint; that was stupid, I was just mad and didn’t think, okay?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but his features soften just a bit, losing some of his resolve. Steve’s never been one to let someone keep beating themselves up over something, or hold onto a grudge. He can tell that Bucky means every word, regardless of how deep the threat had stung. And now Bucky’s so close that their chests are touching, and Bucky’s fingers are sliding into his hair, to the back of his head, so Bucky can keep his hold on him that way.

“I’m sorry,” he says again in a whisper. Leaning in, he gives Steve’s mouth a kiss. Steve doesn’t kiss back; just keeps staring at Bucky’s face. Bucky doesn’t let that deter him, though. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, and kisses him again. He goes back and forth between the two – muttering the apology and then pressing his lips briefly to Steve’s unresponsive mouth – and by about the fifth kiss, Steve’s walls start crumbling.

He closes his eyes first, just when Bucky kisses his bottom lip for the sixth time. Then he’s inhaling through his nose and pushing his lips back, which elicits a deep sound in Bucky’s throat as he kisses Steve harder. Then Steve’s wrapping one arm around Bucky’s lower back and bringing the other to the side of his neck to grip him closer. With Steve finally kissing back, Bucky’s body language quickly grows more desperate. He keeps trying to step even closer against Steve, even though there couldn’t be any less space between them if they tried. He kisses at Steve’s mouth faster; parts his lips with little whimpers and beats his tongue back to Steve’s almost _hectically._

Steve doesn’t know how it’s possible for a person to feel all the things at once that he’s feeling right now. There’s still _hurt_ , and _jealousy_ , and _anger_ -though that last one doesn’t seem to be in any way directed at or around Bucky anymore. Just the situation in general; the outrage Steve still feels at the fact that he had to share what should only be his. But he also feels _desperate_ and _confused_ and _hungry_ and fucking _aroused._ He hasn’t had Bucky kissing him like this – needing him, _really_ fucking palpably needing him – since before the Clint thing. Sure, it’s only been a week, but it feels like a hell of a lot longer. Months. Maybe even years.

Steve never even noticed that Bucky had coaxed him up against the wall until he’s squeezing his hand between them to grind his palm between Steve’s legs. Then the hard surface behind his back is the only other sensation Steve’s aware of, because it all makes him feel caged in, and he loves it. If he was ever apprehensive about feeling trapped by _anything_ , the only exception is being trapped by Bucky – in every sense of the word.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says yet again between bruising kisses. “I just wanted you to want me… I want you to be jealous, because I… I like when you’re possessive… I’d kill you if you looked at anyone else the way you look at me…”

He starts hastily stroking Steve from over his pants, making Steve’s brows knit tighter with a sharp gasp. That _thing_ inside of him – that controlling, immoral, profane _need_ to dominate Bucky and stake his claim on him – starts blooming in his chest all over again with each passing second. It’s that twisted, dark desire that he never even knew existed in him until the first time Bucky asked Steve to call him ‘little boy’, and Steve’s body had responded to it. And to be honest, he’s felt it more and more over the last week than he was ever prepared to. He never knew he had the capacity to be this kind of person, so it still feels unnatural because he isn’t used to it.

It’s obsession. He _is_ possessive over Bucky, and that’s the problem. Steve doesn’t think Bucky understands the full extent of how he makes Steve feel. The idea of anyone else putting their hands on him sets Steve off stronger than anything else ever has, and he’s _never_ been prone to that sort of behaviour. It scares him, the things he wants to do to Bucky; the way he wants to _own_ him.

“Please,” Bucky’s begging, feverishly kissing anywhere he can; Steve’s jaw, his neck, his mouth, biting his lip… “ _Please_. Do what you want with me because _it’s what I want_. Tell me not to let anyone else touch me like this, ‘cause I _want_ you to want me that badly. Don’t let anyone else have me, _please_ …”

Steve can’t think properly. The air around them feels hot and thick, and his lungs are burning with every breath. “I can’t,” he argues weakly, even though he groans helplessly when Bucky buries his face against Steve’s neck… Fumbles to get his pants open… Forces his hand past the waistline of his underwear to clumsily press his palm to Steve’s aching dick… Bucky keeps making these tiny _hurt_ sounds against his skin while his hips roll against Steve’s; against his hand concealed beneath the fabric of Steve’s jeans, forcing it to move along Steve’s cock and stimulate him enough to get him panting.

“Bucky, I can’t,” he forces himself to say again.

“Please,” Bucky whimpers. His thumb presses hard against Steve’s tip and rubs in a circle. Steve’s eyes roll into his head and it _thumps_ back heavily against the wall, his mouth falling open. He’s clutching Bucky so hard that there’s no way he won’t bruise.

“Buck--”

“Prove you want me, please, _please,_ sir… I want it… You only hurt me when I think you don’t want me anymore… _Please_ , Steve please…”

He has blood rushing in his ears. His pulse is hammering against his throat; feels like it’s about to split open the skin. His chest is so tight… He has no choice but to give into that need. Exhaling loudly, Steve yanks Bucky’s hand out of his pants at the same time that he grabs him by the throat and spins them around in a tight circle. Shoving Bucky hard against the wall and surging in, crushing their lips together so aggressively it hurts. The force causes Bucky’s head to knock loudly off the wall, and he _moans_ brokenly into Steve’s mouth.

Letting go of Bucky’s neck, he kisses him hard and fast, making sure that Bucky has nowhere else to go except tighter against Steve. He wants to be the only thing Bucky knows. Nowhere else matters. If Bucky even for one _second_ thought he wanted someone else, it’s only because Steve failed to take proper care of him. It’s his job to prove that he’s the only one Bucky needs like this. Only Steve can take Bucky to his absolute limit and keep him there until he’s shattering apart. Only Steve can put him back together. Bucky _does_ belong to him – _no one else, fucking no one else_ \- and it’s high fucking time Steve made it absolutely clear that Bucky knows that.

“You want me to be selfish?” he asks in a husk, as he tilts his face to the other side to kiss him again. With his left hand, he cards his fingers into Bucky’s hair; tips scraping up along his scalp, starting above his ear and moving to the top of his head. “You want me to control you?”

“Yes,” Bucky breathes back automatically; keeps pleading “ _please_ ” like he can’t help it at all anymore.

“You need to tell me if I go too far,” Steve says. “I don’t trust myself around you, can’t… Can’t hurt you, Buck… If it’s too much--”

“It won’t be,” Bucky interrupts, already trying to pull Steve’s lips back to his. “It won’t be, _please_ , I promise.”

“The only promise I wanna hear if that you’ll tell me if you don’t like something,” Steve insists, dead serious.

“I promise, _I promise_!” Bucky practically whines. “I’ll say _r-red_. Like, stop. Red. Steve, _please_ \--”

Steve’s cock is pulsing uncontrollably against his thigh, and he’s going to burn to death, he’s sure of it, his skin feels like fire. He cuts off Bucky’s begging by tightening those fingers in his hair and yanking his head back against the wall. Bucky makes a choked sound, eyes opening but his lids drooping heavily. He looks _at_ Steve, but also _through_ him. There’s barely any coherence in them left already – from just that simple action. Steve keeps his head pinned back like that; keeps Bucky’s throat bared for him.

_He’s so fucking beautiful…_

“I don’t want you flirting with anyone else,” he orders in a low, deadly tone. Bucky’s mouth goes slack and Steve can see his pink little tongue hiding in there. Lifting his eyes back to Bucky’s, he continues, “I don’t want you going on anymore dates, or giving away your number, or even _looking_ at someone else like that. I don’t even want you _thinking_ of another person like that. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky slurs out, barely audible enough to be heard.

Steve leans in and brushes his lips across Bucky’s. His gaze is still zeroed in on the brunet’s half-closed eyes. His pupils are blown, and his ‘tell’ kicks in; Bucky’s body starting to tremble against Steve’s – so badly in need of being properly touched _just the right way._

“The only one who’s allowed to have you like this is me,” Steve murmurs in a much gentler tone. He’s learned that Bucky gets off on it as much as he likes when Steve’s stern with him; getting spoken down to and admonished, only to then be coddled and treated like Steve’s only mission in life is to take care of him. “You need me, don’t you?” he whispers, before his eyes fall closed and he starts kissing softly along Bucky’s jawline. “You can’t take care of yourself so you need me to do it for you. Isn’t that right?”

“ _Mhm_ ,” Bucky hums. It comes out as shaky as the rest of him.

“Say it.”

“I need you, sir…”

“Yes, you do.” Steve plants feathery kisses down the curve of his neck. He can feel how badly Bucky wants to tip his head to the side as an offering, but Steve’s hand still has it pinned roughly back against the wall. “You’re so perfect,” he praises adoringly, followed by a kiss. “ _Mine_. You hear me, Buck? You’re all mine. No one else is allowed.”

Parting his lips, he nudges the loose collar of Bucky’s t-shirt aside enough so he can close them where Bucky’s neck meets his shoulder and start sucking. He feels the quick expanse, followed by the constriction of Bucky’s throat as he gasps and then trips over a surprised moan. Steve latches onto him and sucks harder; rubs his tongue against the skin and bites down on it enough to help speed up that gorgeous bruise to the surface. By about a half minute, Bucky’s writhing between him and the wall, so Steve uses his right hand to grab his hip while he wedges his thigh between Bucky’s legs. This way, he can press hard enough to force Bucky to become immobile.

Steve’s lips are tingling and swollen by the time he pulls back. The hickey is glistening with his saliva, but it’s a very angry red and it’s huge and it’s _his_. He doesn’t care that Bucky will obviously have to lie about who he got it from, that’s just a given. But they’ll know, and even if his identity remains a secret, the _world_ will know that _someone_ claimed Bucky like this.

“Gonna cover your whole body in these one day,” he murmurs sweetly, giving it a small lick. Bucky shivers and does nothing but moan. Steve kisses a trail back up towards Bucky’s mouth. Before he gives the poor boy what he wants, though, he hovers _just_ out of reach and asks, “Who do you belong to, Buck?”

Bucky just keeps staring at him in worship - with eyes as glassy as marbles - but after a few seconds, he answers, “You... I’m p… property of Steve Rogers... Belong to you.”

Steve never thought he could hear anything that sounded so fucking close to actual music. He feels like it sparks electricity off in his veins; his own pupils expanding even larger at Bucky’s declaration. It makes him suddenly feel lightheaded. He kisses Bucky once, nice and deep, as his reward, replying, “God, you’re so good… You’re such a good little boy, so sweet, all mine, _you’re all mine, Bucky_.”

“No one else,” Bucky vows to him breathlessly.

Steve keeps Bucky’s head to the wall but eases up against the rest of him so he can look down and run his right hand over his clothes, along his body. When he slides it down Bucky’s outer thigh only to drag it back up the inside, Bucky’s already trying to cant his hips into Steve’s palm. He’s back to whispering a string of the word _please_ , _please sir_ , _please_ … Steve cups his hand between Bucky’s legs and massages the heel against the erection he feels straining underneath. Bucky’s top teeth dig down into his bottom lip as his eyes roll up into his head with a whine.

“You never let Clint fuck you, right?” Steve then asks, glancing down quickly to watch his own hand, before looking back to Bucky’s face.

Bucky freezes. Opening his eyes, they dart to Steve’s, and Bucky gets that same look flashing across his face that he got when Steve first walked by him in the hallway – the one that’s thrown off, knows he’s been caught but never expected to be, and doesn’t know in this moment what to do next. For a second, it doesn’t click because _no, there’s no way._ But that look says it all, and suddenly Steve’s heart rate spikes, his blood pressure going through the roof as his baby blues widen indignantly.

“Did you let Clint fuck you?” he demands to know. Bucky parts his lips like he’s about to answer, but then nothing comes out, not even air. Steve tightens his grip around the outline of Bucky’s dick almost _painfully_ and steps in close again, pinning Bucky right back up. “ _Did you let Clint fuck you?_ ” he asks again, sharper this time.

Bucky’s face pinches up in discomfort at the way Steve’s grabbing him. He winces, but before Steve can register it and start to second-guess his actions, he also feels Bucky’s dick twitch with interest against his hand. Bucky’s _liking_ this. Steve cannot remember the last time he felt this insulted, this furious – but it’s the weirdest, sickest thing: he’s also still horny as fuck. And somehow, seeing the fear in Bucky’s eyes but knowing that his little boy’s also getting off on this; trusts Steve enough not to ask him to stop, doesn’t _want_ Steve to stop… It makes Steve want him even more.

“Only once,” Bucky answers quickly. His voice is small and frightened; half put-on and half real.

“When?” Steve immediately asks, not skipping a beat.

“The last time I saw him… Two nights ago.”

Steve grits his teeth, glaring right at Bucky. But it’s still not Bucky he’s angry with. He isn’t even sure it’s Clint, either. It’s just the principle; the inherent knowledge that it’s _not right_ , someone else touched Steve’s property. Someone else dirtied up what belongs to him, when that should only be _his_ privilege.

“He make you come?” he snarls.

Bucky looks like he doesn’t know whether or not to actually answer that, but then he gives the smallest nod and whispers, “Yes, sir.”

“Did it feel good?”

Another pause, another nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Did you scream his fucking name when you came? Huh?”

He doesn’t know _why_ he’s doing this to himself; to either of them, really. Jesus Christ, when did he become so fucked up that he got off on things like this? Hearing Bucky answer these questions puts the images into his head that he’s been so adamantly trying to avoid. Hearing Bucky answer fucking _hurts_ – it destroys him. And yet _he’s_ the one who’s got Bucky in this position right now and _he’s_ the one Bucky seems to only really want, and so somehow, it’s also getting Steve all the more worked up.

Bucky, too. At _this_ question, his eyes start filling with tears and his bottom lip trembles, clearly feeling shamed at having to answer Steve’s interrogation. Steve’s eyes widen and lose just the smallest sliver of their edge when he sees Bucky like this… But when he loosens his grip on Bucky’s crotch and makes to pull back – maybe put an end to their behaviour right now, _he isn’t sure_ – Bucky’s left hand flies over his before Steve can remove it, and he shoves it _back_ against his dick. At the same time, he squirms against the wall as much as he can manage to thrust forward into Steve’s grip.

_Oh fuck…_

“Yes, sir,” Bucky answers. He blinks, setting some of the tears free. They roll down his cheeks, which are turning red from trying not to break down crying. “I screamed his name,” he clarifies. “I came all around his cock and my own chest. I’m s-sorry.”

It feels like the most fucked up, blasphemous form of confession… Steve’s standing there, _shaming_ Bucky, and Bucky wants it; like he wants Steve to purge him of his actions so he can be properly forgiven. Steve’s still seething, still so turned on _he’s_ starting to shake, too, but he gives Bucky what he wants and grips him mercilessly again; returns to stroking him at a rapacious speed, squeezing him to the brink of pain.

“How many times did you come?” he asks.

Bucky’s eyes squeeze closed, more tears rolling out from the corners of his eyes, and his jaw drops at the renewed friction between his legs. He cries out a few breathy moans and then licks his lips, stammering, “T… T… Twice. Once in his mouth, the other from b-being fucked.”

“How long did it last?”

“ _Ahhh_ … _Mm, mm… Fuck_ …” Bucky’s whine is pitchy, all over the place. His face twitches as he continues to cry silent tears. “Not long… You last way longer…”

Steve groans, the unexpected praise of his own making him twitch again in his pants. “Did you let him fuck your beautiful mouth? You choke yourself on him?”

“Yes…”

“Say it, little boy,” Steve orders. Bucky makes an embarrassing whimpering sound as he looks back to Steve helplessly. A big, fat tear rolls from the outer corner of his right eye. Leaning in, Steve gives Bucky’s mouth a chaste kiss before licking the tear away. Bucky’s eyes close and he moans desperately.

Steve brings his lips to his ear and calmly, _gently_ explains: “You’re gonna give me details, then I’m gonna make you forget everything you just told me. Don’t worry, baby, I’m going to take good care of you. I take care of what’s mine. But first you need to own up to what you did. Tell me what he did to you.”

He continues working Bucky over with his right hand. When Bucky starts to chaff from the friction of his jeans constantly scraping across his skin, Steve eases his grip, but Bucky breathes “ _Don’t stop_ ”, so Steve doesn’t. After almost a minute of Bucky breathing unsteadily through his nose and groaning at Steve’s ministrations, he swallows and says, “We were… On his couch… No one was home. Watchin’ a movie, when he… _Ah_ … He leaned in and kissed me and I… I kissed back… We made out for a… a bit, started touchin’ each other over our clothes…”

“Keep going,” Steve says when Bucky takes a small pause.

Bucky hisses, biting his lip so deeply that Steve’s worried it’ll start bleeding. He lets go of Bucky’s cock to reach up and tug Bucky’s bottom lip away with his thumb. When Bucky looks to him, Steve shakes his head. “Stop that, before you hurt yourself,” he says firmly. “What is it? Tell me what you need.”

“Please pull my dick out, sir,” Bucky says. “ _Please_ , I need it…”

“Keep going first and then I’ll give you what you want,” Steve replies calmly.

For a moment, Bucky looks frustrated. But after releasing a strained exhale, he closes his eyes and nods obediently. “We got naked and we… He got me onto my back and started kissin’ me all over while he jerked me off, and…” He gulps, losing his train of thought as Steve makes good on his word and starts undoing Bucky’s button and fly with deft fingers.

“Then what?” Steve presses, now tugging the jeans down Bucky’s hips, along with his boxers. Bucky’s cock springs free; poor thing all flushed and red and definitely looking irritated from the denim. It’s still hard as a rock, though, and the cockhead is practically drowning in precome.

“He sucked me off,” Bucky chokes out. “Oh _god!_ Sir, _sir_ – _fuck!_ ” he then cries out before whining loudly, as Steve takes Bucky back in hand and starts properly fucking his fist over his cock. Starts praising him; _thank you, thank you, sir, oh my god…_

“That’s the end of the story – ‘he sucked you off’?” Steve asks mockingly, tone still low and unimpressed.

Bucky shakes his head. “No, sir, he… made me come and then I returned the favour.”

“Did he taste good?” Steve asks bitterly.

Bucky doesn’t verbally answer that one, but after a few moments, he _does_ bite his lip again and nod. Steve’s nostrils flare and he takes a deep, uneven breath. His hand slacks in its rhythm, but then he tightens his grip and _really_ starts jerking Bucky off. Bucky shouts, “Fuck!” and tries to no avail to thrust back and forth into Steve’s hand.

Steve ignores how needy Bucky is for this; just keeps him pinned and continues staring intently at his unraveling expression and asks, “Did he taste better than _me_?”

Bucky’s shaking his head before Steve’s even finished the question. “No, _no_ ,” he insists. His voice cracks. “No one’s like you, sir – p-promise. You taste so good, _oh god,_ you taste so good, _so good, mm_ – ah, sir, m’gonna come--”

“Don’t even think about it,” Steve says warningly. He strokes Bucky even _faster._

Bucky’s lids fly wide and then droop rhythmically, like he’s having trouble focusing. Then he’s staring up at the ceiling as his brows crease tightly and he makes a weak, argumentative sound in his throat. “Sir,” he tries to plead, “but – I, I can’t--”

“Don’t come until I say you can.” At this, Steve very abruptly slows his hand down, changing his strategy. Instead, his fist wrings Bucky from base to tip slowly, so slowly. He rubs at Bucky’s foreskin with his thumb; drags it over the crown before sliding it back down and teasing Bucky’s slit and frenulum with the tips of his fingers. Bucky’s legs are shaking so violently that Steve isn’t sure whether or not he’s even going to be able to stay standing, let alone stop himself from climaxing all over the place.

But Steve knows how Bucky ticks – what works with him.

So his eyes soften, and he leans in and presses a comforting kiss to the boy’s mouth. After kissing all over his face, even the tip of his nose, Steve stamps an invisible pattern down his throat, back to the hickey. When he pinches it lightly between his teeth, Bucky jolts with a gasp, and his dick is completely _drooling_ in Steve’s hand.

“You wanna be my good little boy, sweetheart?” Steve whispers in a soothing, protective tone. He kisses the bruise before licking up to his ear and nipping on the lobe. “Can you be good for me and not come ‘till I say it’s okay?”

Just like that, Bucky’s tension subsides – not fully, but mostly. _Finally_ , Steve lets go of the fistful of hair he’s been clutching at the top of Bucky’s head, and without Steve’s strength to keep it tipped back, it falls forward like dead weight. Worry surges throughout Steve – _is Bucky about to pass out on him??_ \- but then Bucky’s wrapping his arms around him as much as he can, clutching tight, and turning his face to the side so he can rest his cheek on Steve’s shoulder.

“ _Steve_ …” Bucky breathes; sucks in a quick breath when Steve’s thumb once again drags through the mess of precome and smears it around his oversensitive tip, and then moans into Steve’s skin. “Yeah… Be good for you… I’ll be good for you, sir…”

Can a person’s heart explode if it feels too full? This is all he’s wanted – this right here is everything he could ever want: Bucky dependent on him, just like this. Not just wanting him, but _needing_ him; same as how Steve doesn’t simply want to take care of him. Rather, it’s something he _has_ to do. Bucky’s shown him this.

“That’s it, baby; that’s good. Can you tell me more about that night with Clint now?” he asks patiently. Bucky tries to string together his answer, but at this point, he’s just doing everything he can not to come without permission. Steve recognizes this pretty quickly and decides to take pity on him. He can do the work on this one; he doesn’t mind.

“When you blew him, did you do the work, or did he hold your head still and fuck your mouth?”

Between soft sounds exhaled against his neck, Bucky mumbles slowly, “Fucked… my mouth… _Unh, sir_ ,” he breathes. Steve slides his hand back and forth between stroking Bucky’s cock and rolling his balls against his palm. He’s still using his thigh and hip to keep Bucky against the wall, incapable of moving much.

“Did he come?”

“No…”

Steve scowls to himself for a moment as he mutters, “Guess not. Was saving that for your ass. He’d have better worn a condom, Bucky.”

Bucky nods weakly. “He did.”

“He finger you after? Eat you out? How’d he prep you?” he asks next.

“Just… fingers. Took two, then I said I was fine…”

“What positions?”

Bucky moans again. He’s panting so harshly against Steve’s skin that it’s starting to get uncomfortably hot. Steve doesn’t want him to stop. “D-Doggy… Then on my back…”

Steve’s hand slows as an unsettling thought crosses his mind. Staring ahead at the wall, he tries to keep his tone calm when he asks, “Did you kiss him when you came?”

He feels Bucky’s right hand take hold of the side of his face. Bucky lifts his head enough to turn Steve’s face in and capture his lips in a kiss. It’s insistent, almost urgent. Steve’s mind goes blank – that’s not fair. That’s Bucky’s secret weapon. Every time he kisses Steve, Steve completely melts for it.

“No,” Bucky answers. Insists shakily, “Only with you,” and then kisses him again.

A low, accidental moan slips out, and Steve realizes it came from _him_. Framing one side of Bucky’s face with his left hand, he kisses him back and then presses their foreheads together. Nodding, his eyes still closed, he says, “Only me, that’s right. And why’s that?”

“Because I’m yours.”

“Yes.”

“I belong to you,” Bucky keeps going. Steve bites his lip and starts fucking his fist over Bucky a bit quicker again. Bucky’s brows furrow as his mouth falls slack, exhaling a long and heated ‘ _Auh_ ’ that sounds broken up in time with the strokes along his dick. “Belong to you,” he repeats, and Steve isn’t even sure anymore if Bucky’s talking to _him_ or _himself._ “Yours, always, you own me, I… I… Sir… _Steve, please_ …”

Steve kisses him, sliding his left hand down to Bucky’s chest. Pressing, he gently pushes Bucky fully back against the wall again. He whispers “Come for me” against Bucky’s mouth, before dropping to his knees and wrapping his lips around the tip of his dick. Taking Bucky’s hips in his hands, Steve looks up at him from beneath long, dark lashes as he begins to suck _back_ and _forth_ shallowly.

Bucky’s whole face twists up as his eyes bulge from his head. Then he’s grabbing for Steve’s hair with both hands and tilting his chin up, squeezing those beautiful eyes shut with a choked cry. So Steve closes his own and focuses on breathing through his nose; on licking his tongue along him whenever he pulls back and taking just a little more of Bucky into his mouth whenever he goes forward again.

Bucky’s so worked up that he’s really only in Steve’s mouth for about seven or eight seconds before he’s yanking golden hair by the roots and going completely taut. His breathing catches, he makes another strangled noise, and then he’s pushing out a loud cry – _Auh!_ \- like it’s being punched from his lungs. The back of Steve’s throat starts getting splattered with hot come, and Steve groans in appreciation. His little boy listens so fucking well for him.

The second his orgasm passes, Bucky’s knees give out. Losing his strength, he slides down the wall and almost collapses right on Steve. Luckily, his reflexes are sharp and he’s able to catch Bucky before they crash into each other. He helps make sure Bucky lands the rest of the way carefully, until he’s on his knees and can at least support his weight that much. Bucky’s immediately burying his face back into Steve’s neck – his go-to spot; the place that makes him feel most protected – and slumps against him. Steve holds him close and strokes his hair for a few seconds while he swallows down the last traces of Bucky on his tongue.

He kisses the top of Bucky’s forehead. “There you go, baby. There you go,” he repeats delicately. “I know, it felt good, shh… You made me so happy, did just as I asked you to. My perfect little boy… Do you think you can walk for me, Buck?”

At first, Bucky shakes his head. But then he seems to think harder on it and heaves a little sigh. “Yeah,” he admits reluctantly. “Just don’t want to.”

Steve smiles to himself. With one hand, he traces lazy, nonsensical patterns along Bucky’s back, over top of his shirt. “You don’t want me to fuck you?”

He can feel Bucky’s lips turn up into a smile against his neck. Steve gasps in surprise when the next thing Bucky does is part them so he can give Steve a soft bite. They both know it’s not one hard enough to last, but Steve still reaches down and gives his ass one exemplary swat. Bucky jars into him and then grunts happily at the sting.

“I didn’t say you could do that,” Steve fake reproaches him.

“Fuck me,” Bucky moans, sounding like such a beautiful slut and completely ignoring Steve scolding him just now. This is one of those times where Steve can’t bring himself to dwell on it.

“Get your ass to my bed then,” he answers.

Bucky’s limbs move like wet noodles, but Steve helps him back to his feet and then up the flight of stairs to the second floor. Feebly, he crawls onto the bed and then rolls over onto his back while Steve gets on after him. Steve slides his jeans off his legs and then carefully removes Bucky’s underwear. He shuffles closer on his knees, so Bucky spreads his legs to give him room to come in between them.

Pushing Bucky’s shirt up his belly, Steve bends down and starts kissing his skin, trying to leave no area untouched. Bucky curls his fingers into the pillow with one hand and uses the other to pet Steve’s hair, staring down at him adoringly with shallow breaths. The higher Steve kisses, the more he rucks Bucky’s shirt up, until it’s bunched beneath his armpits with nowhere else to go. Steve traces Bucky’s areolas with the tip of his tongue before giving his nipples attention; sucking slowly and tugging at them with his teeth until they’re puffy and aggravated.

Once he’s satisfied, he takes the material of the t-shirt into his hands. Bucky takes his cue and curls up enough to lift his arms and allow for Steve to shed the clothing from his body. Steve straightens and removes his own clothes next. Just like with Bucky’s, he doesn’t rush it, because he likes the way Bucky takes in the sight of him whenever he strips down. Bucky never seems any less turned on by Steve’s tattoos, as if his knowledge of them is a secret that only they share.

When he stops and considers the people they mutually know, he supposes it kind of _is._

Both now naked, Steve runs his hands up and down Bucky’s thighs while he rakes his gaze over this beautiful boy before him. Bucky’s skin is so smooth and unblemished. The only thing he’s left wearing are a few bracelets on his wrists and the hickey Steve gave him. Steve wishes Bucky never had to wear anything else ever again.

“If I told you I wanted you to always be naked whenever you were at my house, would you listen?” he asks. It’s not like he actually _would_ do that, but he wants to know the extent of Bucky’s devotion regardless. He’s not disappointed when Bucky nods excitedly. Steve groans quietly. “Then you’d be ready for me whenever we wanted,” he says, picturing it. “I could decide I wanted to bend you over the table, or lift you up onto the kitchen counter… Pin you down to the floor… Any time I wanted, without any warning. And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

Bucky exhales loudly through his nose, biting his lip like he’s so good at doing and nodding a second time. “I’d be pissed if you didn’t,” he jokes, but his voice is all breath.

Steve nods towards the small table next to the bed. “Reach in there and grab me what I need,” he says.

Bucky does; twisting a little so he can open the drawer and retrieve a condom and the bottle of lube. Steve takes them and places them down beside him so they’re within easy access. Then he lowers down onto his stomach so he can pull Bucky’s legs over his shoulders. His hands holding onto Bucky’s ribs, Steve brings his mouth to Bucky’s ass and starts licking along him – over his hole, past his perineum, to his balls. Bucky’s head falls back into the pillow with a sigh, and then Steve stops teasing him and devotes himself to eating Bucky out.

He makes a thorough job of it - listening to Bucky’s occasional moans, and relaxing the tightness in his ring of muscles until they’ve softened enough that he could probably work his cock into him with only a _little_ resistance. He’d meant it when he told Bucky that he takes care of what’s his. Right now, the only thing in this world worthy of Steve’s thought and efforts is Bucky.

It’s effortless to slide his fingers into him after that. Bucky can take two straight away; his hole so welcoming as they let Steve inside on the first try. He still whimpers softly at the penetration, but he’s flushed all the way down his neck and chest… Already rolling his hips down to meet Steve’s fingers. _So good_. Steve’s straightened back up on his knees so he can get the perfect view while he does it. He knows perfectly well what Bucky likes best by now, so he focuses on doing most of the stimulating from the inside; keeping his hand pressed to Bucky’s ass while he curls his fingers over and over, sometimes teasing Bucky by catching the tips over his prostate. Whenever he sees Bucky growing restless, needing more, Steve will hold him steady with the other hand and fuck into him with rough, pointed thrusts.

Every once in a while, he’ll say again, “ _Mine_ ,” and Bucky will just start nodding in agreement and whine out a litany of _yes_ ’s.

He drags out the foreplay for almost forty minutes before he even lets Bucky _near_ his own cock. By the time he’s trembling and fully hard again, turning his head from side to side as he croaks back and forth between _more_ and _please_ , Steve can pretty much feel his boy’s desperation. So he lets him have a small break, of which he’s allowed to put his mouth on Steve if he wants to. And as always, Bucky wants to. He _really_ fucking wants to.

Steve remains as he is while Bucky eagerly feeds his mouth with Steve’s cock. He’s on his knees and forearms; the angle creating a gradual arch going _up_ , from his head to his rear. Bucky’s mouth is so perfect, was fucking made to suck Steve’s dick like this, and all Steve can do is moan and sing his praises while he rubs his hands over Bucky’s body… Grabs a handful of his ass; slaps it lightly if he gets the urge. Everything he does just has Bucky moaning more and more around him.

Bucky loves it when Steve keeps him in place and starts thrusting into the back of his throat, so he saves that for last – right before he knows he won’t be able to hold off from fucking him a second longer. It’s after he claws his nails up Bucky’s back and watches those delicious pink marks being left behind in his wake that that moment hits him. Grabbing either side of Bucky’s head, he stills him so he can start fucking into the back of his throat.

His baby blues are shut tight, with his jaw dropped and his face screwed up in pleasure. Over his own breathing, he’s driven by Bucky’s choked-off groans and soft gagging sounds. The back of Bucky’s throat is fucking Paradise, Steve knows it. Each and every time the tip of his dick collides into it, he feels like he’s having a religious experience. He pumps into him faster and faster, losing control over his movements, until the danger of it feeling _too_ good starts to blossom in his lower belly; that split-second decision he always faces where he can either keep going and finish in his mouth, or retreat and be able to fuck him. So Steve pulls all the way out – dick coated in saliva and bobbing slightly when it falls from Bucky’s lips – and then flips Bucky onto his back again.

He tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth and then quickly rolls it on. After hastily slathering some slick over his erection and then blindly tossing the bottle beside them, he pushes Bucky’s knees to his chest – bending him in half – before draping his own body over top of his. He’s got his cockhead pushing teasingly against Bucky’s loosened hole as he leans in, framed snuggly between Bucky’s thighs, and kisses him.

Bucky makes a short, distressed sound. “C’mon,” he whispers impatiently.

“ _Who_ do you belong to?” Steve asks in response.

Bucky stares up into his eyes and then tilts his chin up to kiss him chastely again. “You.”

“Say my name,” Steve orders.

“Steve Rogers,” Bucky breathes.

“Who do you belong to, Buck?”

“Steve Rogers,” he repeats.

“Who _owns_ you, Buck?”

“Steve Ro--”

Steve slams all the way into him. Bucky’s eyes close and he tenses all around him with a scream. Steve uses that opportunity to close the gap between them and lick straight into his mouth, his hips beginning to move. Bucky wheezes loud, broken noises, but he immediately throws his arms around Steve’s neck and clings to him frantically, trying to pull him closer. He meets Steve’s tongue and kisses back like he’s made of glass and Steve just demolished him into a thousand little pieces.

 _Mine, mine, mine, mine_... That's all Steve's now capable of thinking, same as every other time he ever slips into Bucky Barnes. He never fucking stood a chance against him.

It’s animalistic, feels almost barbaric – the intensity between them from the second their bodies become one. Steve fucks into him like every second he’s pulling his hips back is a second too long, and he _needs_ to chase the inside of Bucky’s body back or else he feels like he’ll die. He can’t get in deep enough. He _tries_ , but even with his pubic bone pressed flush to Bucky’s ass, it still isn’t giving Steve what he wants. Nothing’s enough. He has to have more but he doesn’t know how to possibly get it.

Bucky seems to feel just as crazed by the need to get more of Steve, too. His hands keep flying all over him, digging the tips of his fingers into flesh and muscle unforgivingly, trying to anchor them both. But he can never settle on one place for long. Steve feels fingers framing his spine, fingers in his shoulder blades, fingers in his hips, his ass, getting lost in his hair… Yanking, stroking, gripping… At one point, it almost becomes hard not to know _anything_ but Bucky’s fingers trying to keep Steve in their grasp. If Bucky dug into him any harder, he’d just rip him open, _blood and muscle and tissue and Steve’s fucking beating heart_.

Steve already feels like he’s been torn open, fucking into Bucky like this; being _looked_ at the way Bucky’s looking at him right now. If Bucky decided he wanted to reach deep into his chest and take Steve’s heart to lock away in some little box that he could forever keep, all to himself… Steve would let him.

Bucky whines out a loud “ _mm_ ” sound every time Steve thrusts home. He bites at Steve’s mouth; tries to form pleas for more but can never get more than two or three words out before Steve’s cock is kissing his prostate, and then he’s spiralling back into nothing but curses and cries. _God,_ fucking _god_ , Bucky’s the most beautiful thing Steve’s ever seen. Nothing else comes even close. Pushing himself up so his arms are straightened, he slows down his strenuous speed so he can start thrusting deep and hard into the tight walls of his ass. When they’re like this, Bucky’s face pinches up and he makes gets strangled over a cry every time he’s filled up. Steve loves it.

“ _Mine_ ,” Steve growls. “If anyone ever puts their hands on you again… I’ll kill ‘em… I’ll fucking lose it, Buck, you understand?”

“Yes – _oh god, yeah,_ ” Bucky breathes, letting his head fall to the side as his eyes close. His brows furrow as another one of those pitchy whines gets trapped in his throat. “Wish you c… could make an example of me in front of e-everyone, Steve,” he moans. “ _Mm, fuck! Just like that, there, oh fuck, g-god!..._ Fuck… Fuck… Would you stand me up in front of the whole class and show them how much of a good boy I am for you, Steve?”

“Oh god,” Steve exhales, eyes fluttering closed at the image it creates. He pictures Bucky in nothing but his jeans, standing in front of everyone – exposed and vulnerable – while Steve held onto the back of neck protectively and explained to everyone that Bucky is not to be touched, to be hit on, to be _anything_ – because he’s Steve’s to command, and Steve’s the only one he’ll listen to.

“Yeah, picture it, sir,” Bucky encourages, his own eyes still closed, too. Steve doesn’t stop rocking into him, and his body doesn’t stop jutting back and forth along the mattress, and between languid moans or sharp cries, he keeps going: “I’d be so good for you, sir. Would drop straight to my knees if you wanted to show them how nicely I suck your dick… Would let you fuck my face as deep as you wanted; wouldn’t g-gag unless you wanted me to… _Ah! Jesus Christ…_ ”

Steve grabs Bucky’s wrists and pins his arms over his head, bending down to kiss him. They groan into each other’s mouths; Bucky mumbles against his lips, “Fuck me in front of all of them and call me your ‘little boy’… Make me cry… Make me call you ‘sir’ so they know who owns me… _You_ own me, sir, _you fuckin’ own me_ , show them I’m yours, _please_ …”

He imagines having Bucky’s chest pressed down on the surface of his table… Making him look at everyone while Steve slaps his ass with the back of his hand; teases his hole but doesn’t give him what he wants. He pictures Bucky crying and getting his fill of that addictive humiliation Bucky craves so much… While everyone couldn’t take their eyes off of them - students, teachers, Steve’s friends, Clint, _everyone_ … Bucky would thank him over and over, and Steve would wind him up so tightly that his greatest achievement would be turning him over, looking straight into Bucky’s eyes, and commanding, “ _Come_.”

And Bucky would, with Steve’s name on his tongue. He’d come all over himself and he’d be so fucking _wrecked_ that when he’d pull Steve down for a kiss while he rode his orgasm to completion, they’d _forget_ about everyone else for just a few precious moments. Because the point of it all is that it _does_ come right down to them – nothing else means a damn thing, not to Steve or to Bucky.

“Keep your hands above your head,” Steve says, waiting until Bucky nods to let go of his wrists. Like a good little boy, Bucky keeps them where they are, like Steve hasn’t stopped pinning him down. Just to be safe, he bends his elbows a little so he can cross his wrists and grab onto his own forearms, locking his arms in place. “My good boy,” Steve hears himself saying; hadn’t even planned to say it. Then he asks himself, “How did I ever deserve you?” and kisses him again.

Bucky sighs softly against his mouth, just a small hint of a thing. Steve straightens so he can lift Bucky’s legs and elongate them. Resting both feet on his right shoulder, he wraps both arms around his clenched thighs and fucks him that way. Bucky squirms – looks like he wants to touch Steve so fucking bad – but even when Steve will graze his prostate and make the boy’s back arch, Bucky never moves his hands from over his head. He only squeezes his forearms harder.

“Think you got another in you for me, baby?” Steve pants, taking Bucky’s cock in hand so he can start wringing it over and over. “You gonna come for me again?”

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Bucky answers with a moan, digging his head back into the pillow. “Wanna come… _Sir_ , you feel so good… So fuckin’ big, _oh god_ … Miss your cock when it’s not inside me… Miss _you_ … Please, sir, _Steve_ , fuck me ‘till I come, I wanna come for you…”

Steve lets Bucky’s legs fall back to either side of him again so he can position Bucky the way he wants him. Bucky’s absolute favourite way for Steve to fuck him is the way they had on the couch, that first time – with Bucky’s ass lifted so Steve can drill into his sweet spot with every _single_ fucking thrust. That gets Bucky unraveling like nothing else Steve’s ever seen before. When he crawls over him and pushes back inside, he reaches up with one hand and grips the headboard for extra leverage.

Bucky’s looking up at him with that same reverence Steve feels in his heart for Bucky; like Steve’s a fucking angel, and it’s when Bucky whispers his name as he buries himself all the way in again that Steve starts to feel like he’s slipping.

Bucky’s wrists are still above his head, so he can’t provide his dick any stimulation. Steve knows it’s easier for Bucky to finish if he’s also jerking himself off, yet when he gives him permission, Bucky never stops staring into his eyes, even as he shakes his head in protest. “I wanna come just like this,” he says. “You’re the only one who can get me there – just… keep… _Mm_ , just keep doin’ that…”

Steve watches Bucky’s face, feeling like he’s being pulled into some sort of trance. He’s never felt anything like this, and for a second, he feels panicked. It’s starting to feel like he’s dreaming – that sluggish, languid feeling where the lights seem brighter, fuzzier, but your body feels heavy. His heart rate spikes, he doesn’t know what this is, but Bucky’s lips are still moving and Steve couldn’t look away from him if he tried.

“Wanna come from nothing but your cock… Want you to make me forget about everything else…”

For just a couple of seconds, Steve’s vision goes unfocused. His ears feel clogged, Bucky’s voice sounds further away, but then it’s like tunnel vision. Everything’s dark around the edges – unclear. Everything except for Bucky. Steve can’t see anything but him. He can’t _hear_ anything but him. He literally doesn’t _know_ anything but him, or _care_ about anything but him. Steve’s brain turns off, and Bucky is the only thing his soul is instinctually responding to. He’s never felt this, whatever this is. It’s glorious.

Bucky’s prostate gets hit again and he begs, “Make me forget…” 

_Need to take care of him, Steve’s needs to take such precious care of him. Make him come, make him yours, Steve needs Bucky to need him – need me, want me, need me, want me, please. And Bucky’s so beautiful, he’s fucking exquisite, he’s art, he’s fucking music, he’s the goddamn air in Steve’s lungs, make him come, make him yours, need me, please, want me like I want you, I’ll die if you don’t._

_Can’t think – he’s not thinking; he’s still got tunnel vision and Bucky’s the only thing that’s crystal clear, and Steve thinks he’ll go insane if he can’t make Bucky come, if he can’t take over every fiber of his being. Bucky needs him, Steve needs to take care of him, right now that’s the only purpose he feels he’s ever had in life. He moans so prettily, he’s the fucking sunrise and the sunset, he’s the wind, Bucky’s the fucking sky and the ocean and Steve doesn’t even know what he’s thinking anymore, because he’s hardly thinking at all –_ can’t _think, just Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…_

 _He doesn’t realize he’s fucking into him harder and harder, faster and faster. That he’s now holding the headboard in_ both _hands so he can use it to pull his body against Bucky’s and get so deep that Bucky’s so overwhelmed that he can’t even handle screaming anymore. All he can do is gasp like he can’t breathe anymore, but it’s still not enough, no, it’s not fucking enough, because Steve just wants to make him feel so good, so good, so good, Bucky’s so fucking good. He’s panting and groaning himself, but he doesn’t hear it. The bed is creaking in distress, over and over and over, back and forth and back and forth, but Steve doesn’t hear it. The only thing his brain is processing is Bucky._

 _Make him come, make him yours, need me, want me, need me, want me, please, he’s so perfect and Steve doesn’t deserve him. He’s staring up at Steve completely doe-eyed, like he’s both shocked by Steve right now and completely captivated by him. Steve doesn’t know what his own face looks like for Bucky to be looking at him this way, but he doesn’t care, who fucking cares, it’s not about him, it’s about Bucky, Steve needs to make Bucky his. God, he isn’t thinking, simply_ cannot _think straight, because it’s never felt like this – he feels like he has no control, yet his senses are acutely targeted on Bucky and when it comes to him, he feels more in control than ever. Make him come, take care of him, keep him safe from the world – come for me, Buck – and fuck, he’s so gorgeous, Steve can’t fucking stand it… Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,_ can’t think _, want him, loves him, Steve fucking loves him so much he doesn’t know how to process it, could drive a man inside – come for me…_

When Bucky suddenly screams, Steve doesn’t even register it at first. It takes a second for the sound to catch up with the way Bucky’s eyes squeeze closed and his mouth falls open. But then Bucky’s scream pierces his ears and cuts all the way into him, and he realizes that Bucky’s chanting the word _fuck_ and climaxing all over them both. Steve can’t stop looking at his face, even then. It’s only in his peripherals that he can vaguely see streaks of white striping up Bucky’s chest… Some painting his neck… Fuck, he seems to keep coming and coming… Lasts forever this time. Bucky’s jolting and vocalizing his orgasm – _dick still pumping out line after line of semen; the physical evidence of Steve’s hard work_ – for a solid fifteen seconds.

Maybe it’s minutes, or weeks, or months… Time’s not a concept Steve understands right now, not at the moment. It just carries on longer than it usually does, and Steve’s fucking _proud_.

He isn’t even fully aware when his own orgasm hits him. Bucky’s completely fucked-out beneath him, using his only remaining strength to _finally_ move his arms from above his head so he can hold onto the back of Steve’s and kiss feverishly along Steve’s neck. Somewhere in the fog of his mind, Steve hears Bucky begging him to come, and then it’s like the next second, an ocean wave is smashing into him and ecstasy blooms from the very pit of his gut.

Like ink in water, it seeps out and floods every single part of him – not one of those climaxes that’s too much all at once, but one that starts as a burning pressure and only continues to build at a gradual pace until you’re thrumming and flying and seeing the face of god. Alive. Steve comes and slurs Bucky’s name and he’s never felt alive like this before.

The tunnel vision slowly fizzles out once the sensations begin to subside. The rest of the world comes back to Steve in fragments, until he’s fully aware again. He isn’t sure what the fuck just happened to him but he feels exhausted. And… shaken. He’s still locked onto Bucky, but he’s starting to realize all the thoughts that’d flooded through his head. Had he really just thought to himself that he’s in love with him? He’s been in love before, but he’d never felt anything even somewhat as powerful as what he’d just felt. He’d felt so _high_ , physically and emotionally.

But he doesn’t understand why that just happened, or what he’d just done – what just fucking happened to him. So as quickly as he’d slipped, it starts to feel like he’s crashing. Doubt and fear and all sorts of horribly insecurities start to take the place of everything that’d just been good. He doesn’t get where it’s all coming from, and that only makes him more scared. It’s like he’s an exposed nerve, and he never meant to bare himself to that degree.

Was it too much? Is Bucky going to feel uncomfortable with him now? _Oh fuck_ , all the things he’d said to him… The way he’d treated him… This was never who Steve was – what the fuck was he doing, _why_ did he do all that to him?

Frowning, still feeling partially out of it and still crashing down, he pulls out of Bucky and then carefully lowers himself down so he’s lying next to him. Bucky’s still trying to catch his breath. Steve feels grey eyes on him and he feels that confused sense of worry all over again, but he can’t bring himself to meet Bucky’s stare. He’s feeling way too vulnerable, and he still doesn’t know why.

“Steve?” Bucky says quietly. Steve almost flinches when Bucky puts a hand on his stomach. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine,” he answers slowly, sounding as unsure as he feels. He wants to apologize for losing control just now, but he isn’t sure how to form the words. Is Bucky mad at him? Did Steve just ruin everything? He can’t get over what just happened. It was the closest thing to an out-of-body experience Steve’s ever had. He can’t wrap his mind around it.

They lay in silence for a minute before Steve realizes he still has the condom on. There’s a building impulse in him to get up and _run_ – he doesn’t know where, just run. As far as he can, so he won’t have to possibly face Bucky being disgusted with him for how he’d just acted. _Jesus Christ_ , when was the last time he’d ever put that much on the line and been so emotionally open with another person? Steve doesn’t think he ever _has_ ; not to that extent. He feels like a fucking fool… Knows somewhere deep down that he’s panicking and probably overreacting, but the irrational, rattled majority of him ignores it.

He makes to get up to go remove the condom, when Bucky suddenly lunges forward and wraps his arm _and_ his leg around Steve’s body. He buries his face back into Steve’s neck, holding onto him as if he’s desperate not to let Steve move. It throws Steve off, but it’s also the strangest thing – that sign of affection, of Bucky wanting Steve so close, even after all that… It’s like an instant comfort for his anxiety.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky quickly says, misunderstanding Steve’s intentions. “Please don’t go, don’t… Don’t kick me out or ask me to leave, please. I’m sorry, I promise I won’t see anyone else anymore. I meant every word I said – I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m so fucking sorry, I just… Please don’t leave me, I can do better…”

Steve has no idea what he’s talking about at first. Then it starts to make sense. The condom can wait, because clearly Bucky’s misinterpreted how Steve feels right now, and he needs reassurance. Steve doesn’t have it in him to admit that he also settles back into the mattress and wraps his own arms around Bucky for selfish reasons, too. Because he needs comfort right now – _badly_. He didn’t know how badly until Bucky latched onto him. Everything feels so all over the place. He just needs Bucky to still want him after everything he just did.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, still staring off with a frown. He’s holding onto Bucky just as tightly, just as scared inside. “I’m not upset with you. At all. I’m sorry, I was gonna come back.”

Bucky stays silent against his neck, but he snuggles in closer. “Steve?” he eventually whispers.

“Mm?”

There’s a long pause, and then Bucky says, “I need to say something… But I don’t want it to freak you out or – or make you run again… I can’t lose you over it, but… Fuck, I need to say it or else I’m gonna go crazy.”

Steve almost feels sick with nerves. This is it – Bucky’s going to let him have it for what he’d done. He completely has this coming, he knows he does. _Fuck_ , how could he have so thoroughly ruined something that makes him so happy? He should’ve known better--

“Okay…”

Bucky goes quiet again. His breathing’s a little quicker, like he’s nervous, too. His lips move against Steve’s neck when he finally gets it out: “I love you.”

There are no words for what that does to Steve then. It’s so sincere and pure and _comforting_ , and that’s exactly what he needs right now. But it’s also the last thing they were ever allowed to do. Even more tension in his muscles loosens involuntarily at the knowledge that Bucky isn’t upset with him, and yet Steve feels like he stiffens all the same. Closing his eyes, his face pinches up as hot tears fill behind his lids, and…

He doesn’t know what to do.

Bucky senses it. He kisses Steve’s neck and hugs him tighter. “I get it if you don’t feel it back, and please don’t feel pressured or anythin’ ‘cause you think I’m expecting to hear it. I just need you to know it’s there for me. You make me feel safe, and… I don’t even know how it got like this, but I don’t want to be with anyone else but you, even if we can’t actually be together. I just… I… I love you. I’m sorry. Is that okay?”

Steve’s glad Bucky can’t see his face right now, because it’s all twisted up while he tries to keep it together. Yes, it’s okay. It’s more than okay. Bucky’s love and complete devotion is all Steve fucking wants. But if he says it back – if he lets himself believe he loves Bucky, too – this becomes too real. They’ll lose their grasp on what they can and can’t have.

They can _have_ each other… but they can never _be_ together. Not for real.

If he tries to talk, he’s only going to cry. So he nods, but… then he finds himself crying anyways. Everything was so perfect and now it’s falling apart harder and quicker than he can keep up with. As if he needed _another_ reason to look so vulnerable and pathetic – like putting himself out there _that_ much for Bucky wasn’t enough. Now he’s got tears running down his face, and his body’s trembling from trying to bottle it back up, and Steve hasn’t really cried in _years_.

Bucky pulls back the second he realizes Steve’s condition. Steve’s so ashamed; doesn’t want Bucky to see him like this when he’s so overemotional and he has no idea _why_. So he covers his face with one hand in an attempt to hide. He can’t see Bucky’s expression but he can feel when Bucky’s suddenly looking at him. He can’t see the way Bucky’s face gets pained at the sight, but he hears the sympathetic sound he makes in his throat. And then he _does_ feel Bucky pushing himself up and bit so he can pull Steve back to him and guide Steve’s head to his shoulder.

“Shh…” Bucky keeps repeating. He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair and pets him, pressing his cheek to the top of Steve’s head. Every few seconds, he’ll squeeze and hug him extra tight. Steve’s being ridiculous, he knows it. The tears eventually subside, thank god, and he’s able to push it all back down and close the lid on it. But he can’t bring himself to move, because Bucky doting affection on him like this seems to be the only thing making him feel any better; less self-conscious. It’s a fucked up role reversal, because wasn’t Steve the one supposed to be taking care of Bucky? He’d just been the one plowing into Bucky and dominating him, but now here he is, curling up to him and feeling so much more like the weaker one. And Bucky’s the only thing capable of making him feel better.

He should be the one begging Bucky not to leave _him_. That’s definitely what he’s thinking on the inside.

“Talk to me,” Bucky urges him soothingly, after kissing his hair. “Please. Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. What do you need from me?”

Steve doesn’t know. _Just keep loving me, please_. Instead, he answers, “I don’t know. I just… need… _this_. I’m sorry. I feel so…”

“Yeah?” Bucky whispers, trying to prompt him. He clearly understands that _something_ happened to Steve while they were being intimate. Maybe he even recognized that Steve had gone somewhere in his head; maybe he saw it. “It’s okay, Steve. It’s okay – how do you feel? I’m right here, I’ve got you, and I’m not goin’ anywhere, okay? I’ll hold you as long as you want. Take your time, breathe with me… Try and talk it out, okay?”

It takes Steve almost five whole minutes to be able to try making sense of his thoughts, but he does his best, even if he keeps feeling like he isn’t explaining it well at all. “I don’t know what happened to me,” he keeps repeating. “I shouldn’t be bossing you around or trying to control you, or… Me getting _that_ jealous? I’ve never been like that before. You… You make me feel things I’m not sure I’m comfortable with ‘cause… they’re not _right_. You don’t deserve to be hurt, but…”

“You wanna hurt me when we’re together,” Bucky gently offers.

Steve closes his eyes, mouth twisting up again, but he forces himself to nod. “Not in a bad way,” he tries to explain, even though he knows Bucky already gets it. “In the way I know you like. But still… I shouldn’t want to do that to you… I don’t know why I do. When I’m around you, I can’t get enough of you. You make me greedy and I always want _more_ and _more_. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. But that’s why I can’t even think of you with anyone else without getting pissed. I’m selfish when I’m with you, and even more selfish when I’m not.”

Bucky nods while he listens, still running his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Steve, I want you to be selfish,” he replies. “There’s nothin’ wrong with the way you feel… Lots of people feel these things. And I mean, like, if there _is_ something wrong with you for wanting those things, then I must be pretty fucked too, because I’m always the one who asks for it.”

“That’s different,” Steve sighs.

“No it ain’t,” Bucky says. “I like it when you act like that with me because it’s somethin’ I need. I don’t know _why_ or what it is about you, but… I just need it. I don’t feel complete ‘till I get it. Every time you hurt me, or get selfish, or boss me around, or whatever – it makes me feel good. Because I trust you; I know you wouldn’t do nothin’ to hurt me for real. I know you care about me. Right?”

“Of course I do,” Steve mumbles. It’s the closest he can come right now to saying _I love you, too._

“Exactly. I like it because I need it, and you like it and need it, too. Even if it doesn’t make sense, it’s _ours_ ,” Bucky continues. “So if I tell you that I don’t care if we can’t _actually_ date but you still don’t want me to see other people, because I _want_ you to only want me to yourself… Can you believe me and let yourself say those things?”

Steve doesn’t know. This whole night has been so much more than he can process just yet. All he can answer is, “I don’t know… Maybe? I can try…”

“Do you trust me?”

Steve lifts his head and looks up at him. He nods. Bucky’s eyes are soft and warm, even though he still looks concerned. Fuck, he really _does_ love Steve. It’s written all over his face. Steve’s heart clenches.

“I’ve already told you I’ll say if I don’t like somethin’ you do,” Bucky reiterates. “If I trust you enough to do these things to me, it has to go both ways for it to work. You need to be able to trust me, too – to be honest with you and _know_ I won’t lie. If you’re not there yet, I’ll do whatever you want me to so I can prove it, okay?”

Steve nods again. He’s still feeling slightly unstable, emotionally, but Bucky comforting him like this has him at least feeling a bit better. He cups Bucky’s cheek with one hand and leans in, kissing him lightly. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky replies, getting a small smile. “Any time. I was tellin’ the truth: I’m yours, Steve. Whenever you want me, I’m there.”

“I always want you,” Steve admits without thinking.

“I always want you, too,” Bucky replies quietly. “You’re the most amazing guy I’ve ever met. I don’t know what I’d do if you ever got bored with me… Didn’t want me no more.”

Steve keeps talking without giving the words any thought. “Never. How could I get bored with you? You’re basically always surprising me… It’s like I didn’t even know who the fuck I was until you came into my life,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood with a tiny, tired smile.

Bucky bites his lip shyly and then gives him a big, beautiful smile; eyes brightening with nothing shy of raw happiness at the sound of Steve’s words.

_Yep… Steve’s in love with him. Head over feet, completely - even though it makes no sense and he isn’t allowed to be._

He can never let Bucky go now. But he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to say those words back, either. Can two people be ‘meant to be’ and also… _not_ be, at the same time?

“Are you feelin’ any better?” Bucky asks, pulling him from his thoughts. “I don’t like it when you’re sad. Let’s just do fuck all for the rest of the night, okay? Eat that stir fry that’s gone cold by now…” That gets Steve to chuckle, and Bucky does, too. Steve can’t help but lean in and kiss his cheek before nuzzling it with his nose and pressing his forehead against it. “Put on a movie up here after?” Bucky continues. “We can have a No Clothes policy for the rest of the night; just relax and stuff… Turn our phones to silent? How’s that sound?”

“Sounds nice,” Steve murmurs, because it does. Smile growing self-deprecating, he jokes, “Who’s supposed to be taking care of who here?”

But Bucky doesn’t really laugh at that. On the contrary, he strokes Steve’s cheek with his thumb before tilting his face down and giving him a slow, deep kiss. “You take care of me, _always_ ,” he answers. “But sometimes, I can take care of you, too, if you’ll let me. Can I take care of you tonight, Steve?”

More of that pleasant, comforting reassurance rolls up Steve’s spine and makes him prickle warmly. He nods, the one to claim the kiss this time. Bucky’s smile comes back, turning his lips up and stretching his mouth against Steve’s. _Fuck_ , Steve loves this kid so, so damn badly. He wishes he didn’t.

“C’mon,” Bucky says, taking his hand. “Shower first. Let me clean you up, then we’ll worry about dinner.”

Steve nods, following his lead and making his body cooperate so he can get out of bed. A nice, relaxing evening sounds nice. Just him and Bucky, with the rest of the world turned off. He still has so many questions without answers; so much he never realized he didn’t know… Above everything else, he doesn’t know how long they’ll be able to keep this up. But now, the idea of it eventually coming to an end is something Steve can’t let himself think about. But at least for the rest of the night, Bucky will make everything okay again.

When they’re under the hot stream of the shower and they find themselves wrapped back into each other’s arms, Bucky takes his time kissing Steve the way he senses Steve needs to be kissed right now… Whispers a few more times, “ _I love you_ ,” even though he knows and understands that Steve isn’t ready to say it back just yet, if ever… Just repeats it because he really, truly does, and Steve feels it. Tonight can at least be about them, and Steve won’t have to think of anything else.

For now, he at least has Bucky. For now, he at least has this one, perfect thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was still slightly unsure about what exactly happened to Steve during sex, he slipped into Topspace. Similar to subspace, it's an elevated sort of feeling, described frequently as getting a sort of 'tunnel vision'. The top/Dom grows incapable of paying attention to anything but their bottom/sub. It's sort of like they lose focus of everything else in the world because they're so zeroed in on their partner. The phone could've been ringing right next to Steve and he probably wouldn't have even registered it. Like subspace, it's a loss of control, but not to the same extent that subspace is. There's still control retained in Topspace, just not as much because they get lost in a sort of 'frenzy'.
> 
> Then, for clarification of why exactly Steve was so all over the place emotionally afterwards, it's 'cause the poor boy didn't know what just happened to him and - and neither did Bucky, really - so he wound up experiencing a crash, brought on by feeling so vulnerable. Hence why Bucky's comfort and affection helped him through it so much. (Yay for aftercare, without even fully realizing that it's aftercare lol)
> 
> _COMING UP..._
> 
> _Steve does some research, and he and Bucky have a talk. Limits get discussed, Steve tries to wrap his head around the sort of relationship they have, and... bottom!Steve._
> 
> _See you next time, sex monkeys! <3_
> 
> **Images/gifs for your viewing pleasure today...**
> 
> 1\. I don't think this one requires an explanation for why I like it :P
> 
> 2\. Can we pretend this is Steve eating out Bucky pLEASE?
> 
> 3\. *incoherent screeching noises*
> 
> 5\. Totally picturing that as Bucky on the right


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky sets the record straight, Steve does some research and learns more than he ever expected to, they set a few ground rules, and Steve tries to put himself in Bucky's shoes to better understand how it is Steve makes him feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill - be mindful of the tags, and heed the Underage warning. If it upsets or offends you, don't read. If you still choose to read, don't bother to comment and complain. (Seriously, why waste your time reading something that upsets you anyways? lol)
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/) is basically a place for Stucky, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Marvel, smut, or inappropriate humour - so if you feel like coming and hanging out with me, please do <3
> 
> **P.S. I am currently no longer taking prompts for the time being, due to an overwhelming number of them already, as well as me wanting to start focusing more on chaptered, more fleshed-out stories again. If you have a prompt you'd really like to give me, feel free to come message me on my Tumblr. But just know that I can't promise that I'll take it at the moment. Thank you!**
> 
> Also, for anyone who doesn't follow me on Tumblr, there was this big discussion/fangirling me and some followers had last night in light of Chris Evans's appearances at the People's Choice Awards. In case you don't know what I'm referring to, THIS is how he was dressed up:
> 
> [(x)](http://mr-chrisevans.tumblr.com/post/107547112215)
> 
> And aaaaaaaall of us were like **TEACHER!STEVE!!!** For the record, minus the beard and the fact that Steve's hair would be blond instead of brown, this is EXACTLY how I picture Steve in this story - especially how he dresses up for work. But also, since I mentioned the beard, that _does_ get brought up in this chapter... ;)

Over the course of the next week, Steve can tell that Bucky still feels guilty about what’d happened with Clint. On his end, yeah, he can’t really think about it in detail without getting that green-eyed monster welling up in his chest all over again, but he knows it’s pointless to dwell on it. It would’ve been one thing if Bucky felt no remorse for his actions, or downplayed the whole thing. But he’d confessed to Steve that he was in love with him; if he hadn’t made it known how scared he truly was that Steve was about to leave him over it, he certainly had when he’d clung to him that night and begged Steve not to… Well, _break up with him_ over it, essentially. They both know they aren’t dating, but after that night, they might as well be in every other sense of the word.

So on a small level, thinking about the fact that Bucky slept with someone else still hurts, but that was before they’d shared what they did. Steve couldn’t possibly hold Bucky’s mistake against him after Bucky had taken such a huge leap and admitted the extent of his feelings, even at the risk of being completely shut down. Steve would had to have been a real asshole to completely disregard that, just so he could stay high and mighty and use Bucky’s fuck up against him.

Steve hasn’t said _I love you_ back, and he still isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to – but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it, all the same. He feels like he’s only ever _really_ living and breathing when he’s around Bucky. Everything else is just a half-existence; moving around on autopilot until he gets his hands back on true happiness again. The nights he sleeps the most soundlessly are the ones where Bucky’s sharing the bed with him. Every other night, he finds himself feeling a little empty; looking at the pillow that Bucky uses and sometimes falling asleep with his hand on that vacant space of mattress – like he can maybe still feel Bucky there if he tries hard enough. In just a couple short months, Bucky’s become Steve’s world.

So he doesn’t like knowing that Bucky’s still beating himself up over everything, and if he senses that Bucky’s feeling self-conscious or has his doubts, Steve will do his best to reassure him that he isn’t going anywhere.

Having said all that, the little ways that Bucky shows it _are_ sweet, and they _do_ make Steve feel special. As much as he wishes Bucky didn’t feel bad, he likes that reassurance of his own that Bucky cares enough about him that he’s basically latching onto him wherever possible. If they’re cuddled up together and watching TV, for instance, Bucky absolutely _has_ to be as much wrapped around him as possible. If he even thinks for one second that Steve’s shifting to move, Bucky readjusts so he’s nearly glued to him, hugging him tighter. His face always has to be at least partially tucked between Steve’s head and his shoulder, snug against his neck where Bucky feels safest.

On one evening, he’d even guided Steve out of his own living room with encouragements to go downstairs and do his daily workout. Laughing, Steve could only keep asking why Bucky wanted him gone so badly, and Bucky just kept replying, “It’s a surprise; you’ll see!” After an hour, when he tried to go back upstairs, Bucky just ran to the door and blocked it as quickly as he could, insisting, “It’s not ready yet – go back downstairs!”

“What?” Steve had laughed, putting his hands on his hips. “Seriously? You’re seriously gonna keep me prisoner to my own basement?”

Bucky just pointed past him with a smirk and ordered, “Go. And no peeking.”

So Steve rolled his eyes and pretended to grumble as he trudged back down the stairs, taking a seat on the couch and watching TV for almost another forty minutes, until Bucky’s voice _finally_ called down to him, “Okay, you can come up now.”

Turned out, he’d made Steve dinner. Well, ' _tried_ to make Steve dinner' might’ve been a better way to put it. The table was all set up – even had a _candle_ in the center, all lit and everything – and all the lights were off except for the one in the dining room that could be dimmed down. Steve was so surprised and so fucking touched that he didn’t even care that he wasn’t really sure _what_ exactly Bucky had been trying to cook.

“Bucky…” Steve murmured with a small, surprised smile as he walked up to the table and took in the sight of everything. “What’s all this?”

Bucky wrung his hands from next to him; grey eyes jumping from the arrangement to Steve’s face and back again. “You always make me dinner, and I thought maybe I could return the favour for once,” he explained, but his voice sounded a little disappointed – like he _knew_ he hadn’t gotten it right and he was bummed out by the result. “My mom makes this really awesome spicy chicken penne, but… I think I botched the seasonin’.” Sighing, he shook his head and added lamely, “The noodles are definitely overcooked--”

Steve took his face in his hands and silenced him with a grateful kiss, making Bucky smile. “I love it,” Steve promised him, because he really did. _I love you_ , he couldn’t help but think. Bucky tried to apologize a few more times, but Steve just kept shutting him up with kiss after kiss, until Bucky believed him when he said that he didn’t care. Then they took their seats and sure, maybe Bucky hadn’t totally nailed the dish, but it was still one of the best things Steve ever ate. The sentiment behind the act made it perfect all on its own.

They talked between bites, smiling at each other as they discussed how their day went (aside from the time they obviously spent together in the afternoon during class), and even spent about half of the meal navigating eating with only one hand – since Steve had the fingers of his other threaded with Bucky’s and he refused to let go. Steve knew full well that this was another one of Bucky’s attempts to make up for the Clint thing, in a way where he wouldn’t actually have to _say_ it, since he knew Steve would only respond with, “You don’t have to keep apologizing; I already forgave you.” Nevertheless, he likewise expressed his understanding in his own way; there was still food on their plates by the time Steve was pulling Bucky towards him to kiss him again, and they quickly abandoned their meal to move to the couch, so they could keep kissing with Bucky straddling his thighs.

It doesn’t seem to matter how much Steve tells him that everything’s okay, Bucky can’t seem to forgive himself quite as easily. Only a few days after the ‘I love you’ night and he comes over to Steve’s with the news that he’d actually spoken to Clint to try and make things right. Steve just listens patiently – feeling immaturely pleased at what he’s hearing for his own sake, while also feeling bad for Clint at the same time – while Bucky explains that he told Clint that while he likes him, he feels they’re best suited as friends, because they’ve known each other for so long and Bucky doesn’t want that to be ruined. Of course, he _didn’t_ tell Clint about Steve (Steve knew he wouldn’t dare to), which made it easier for Clint to accept the situation and agree to still be friends, even though he was obviously disappointed.

“How do you feel about the whole thing?” Steve asks once Bucky’s finished, and the latter falls into silence as he stares off with a frown.

Bucky shrugs. “I mean… I feel okay about it. I still feel bad… He _is_ my friend, and I do care about him. I feel like an asshole for usin’ him, even if I didn’t try to do it intentionally. I didn’t wanna hurt _anyone_.”

That’s one of those moments where Steve gets reminded of just how young Bucky really is – that naivety he still has where he doesn’t always think his actions through, or see the grand scheme of things until after the fact. Steve still doesn’t fully feel equipped to deal with those moments, doesn’t know _how_ to completely make peace with the age difference between them… So all he can do is wrap his arms around Bucky and pull him close, kissing the top of his head and assuring him that he did the right thing, and everything will be alright.

If they aren’t together, Steve spends a lot of time now on his laptop. Because the thing is, he still _didn’t_ know what’d happened to him that night with Bucky, and it’d shaken him to the core so deeply that he’d needed to turn to the internet in a desperate attempt at getting an answer. Within his first hour of looking, thanks to perusing websites and forums and the like, he figures it out. But reading about ‘Topspace’ and realizing that that’s exactly what’d happened to him opens up a _lot_ of other doors that Steve hadn’t even considered.

For the first few nights, he feels panicked at the things he reads – the connections between the things he sees and hears about, to the way he and Bucky behave towards each other. There are times where he completely closes his laptop and has to walk away because it feels like too much to process all at once… Because there are _names_ and _terms_ for the things he feels for Bucky that he hadn’t known how to describe, and the same goes for Bucky and the things _he_ likes in return. Steve had never even known he was this sort of person inside until Bucky waltzed into his life, and now suddenly – from the looks of it – what they have is essentially a _BDSM-type relationship?_

For someone who’s always known very little about that kind of community, it would be an understatement to say that that realization freaks Steve out. Truthfully, it outright _terrifies_ him. Over the week, he does his research out of necessity – partially to learn and try to make sense of everything, but also partially in the hopes that he’ll see some _crucial_ factor that’ll set them apart ( _way_ apart) from that community… Like, there would be some qualifying thing of some kind that Steve could go, ‘Oh, we don’t do that; looks like I’m not a Dom and Bucky isn’t a sub.’

Because _that’s_ the fucking scary part: _is_ he a Dom? Is he _Bucky’s_ Dom? Is Bucky his goddamn sub? It’s not the actual BDSM stuff that Steve has a problem with - actually, he can’t deny that the more research he does and the more things he learns about, the more _turned on_ he’s getting at the possibilities… It’s just the titles; slapping a label onto what they have and who they are. They seem so definitive; too much, too unexpectedly. Steve likes that feeling of ownership that he has over Bucky, and he likes Bucky knowing it and wanting it, too. But he doesn’t want to be Bucky’s _Dom_ … He just wants to be Bucky’s _Steve_ , and if ‘sir’ happens to be a thing they get off on when they fuck, then that too.

Can they have the relationship they have without having to label it that strictly? He can’t help but wonder if _Bucky’s_ thought about this as well; if he’s already seen the parallels, and maybe this whole time, he’s already known that their relationship is like this. Maybe that’s the sort of relationship Bucky _wants_ with him. Steve doesn’t bring it up until he feels that he knows for sure exactly what he wants to say about it.

Regardless of what they call themselves, he can’t deny that a lot of the things they do in the bedroom border into that territory – and as Steve learns, that comes with its own set of responsibilities and concerns. Things actually could get out of hand if they don’t start laying down some ground rules. Steve could potentially take things too far, maybe even get hurt himself. But worse yet, _Bucky_ could wind up getting hurt if they didn’t know what they were doing, and that’s Steve’s worst fear confirmed.

Safe words, hard limits, traffic light rules, different forms of play, Topspace, subspace – they’re all overwhelming and make Steve feel like he’s learning a brand new language, but he reads up on them all because he has to. He looks at personal experiences, at pictures; watches instructional videos, and even looks at that type of porn. It forces his horizons to broaden, thrilling him as much as it sometimes frightens him. Some of the things he watches seem so profane and _cruel_ at first, until he sees how much both parties get off on it. He listens to the screaming and the moaning and the punishing… Sees the unmistakable level of pure, raw _trust_ between the partners…

And it’s like looking into a mirror. Sure, maybe what he and Bucky have done is tame compared to the things he watches, but the dynamic between them is the same. The connection he sees shared is exactly what he has with Bucky, to the point where it doesn’t matter _who_ he’s looking at, he’s capable of imagining himself and Bucky in that same situation. Some of the content even gets him hot enough that he feels he has no other choice but to touch himself while he watches – and every time, he’s able to get off so fast that he doesn’t even know what to make of that.

That Friday, because he knows Bucky’s coming by that night and staying over, he writes down as much information as he can so he doesn’t forget anything. He isn’t sure how exactly to approach this discussion with Bucky, or even what he’s going to really _say_. But he makes a list of the things he’d be willing to try (so long as Bucky would want to), the things he’s legitimately interested in, and the things he absolutely refuses to do. He jots down random things to bring up, like ‘ _Safe word?_ ’ and ‘ _Bucky’s limits?_ ’ and ‘ _Dom/sub talk_ ’.

Then he waits, constantly going back to the list throughout the day and adding anything else that comes to mind, or crossing out things he changes his mind on. By the time Bucky shows up – absolutely none-the-wiser to Steve’s anxiety – Steve’s actually had to change his shirts twice that afternoon from sweating the pits out. However, he gets distracted when he lets Bucky into the house and notices that Bucky has an envelope in his own hand.

“What’s that?” he asks curiously.

Bucky glances down to it and his cheeks dust the softest shade of pink. “Uh… This is actually for you,” he says with a nervous chuckle, holding it out for Steve to take. “I couldn’t sleep last night. Kept tossin’ and turnin’ and thinking about the Clint thing – I know you keep tellin’ me that I don’t gotta worry about it, but I still do, I can’t help it.”

Steve takes it and stares at his name scribbled across the front. Bucky continues while he removes his jacket and shoes, “I don’t want you ever thinking that you ain’t good enough, or that I want anyone else. So… I thought maybe I could set the record straight if you knew exactly how I felt. Like… everything laid out on the line. _Everything_ , y’know?”

However, when Steve goes to open it up, Bucky shakes his head and grabs his wrist quickly, interceding with, “No, no, wait! I, um… I actually don’t wanna be there when you read it. Please? It’s a little embarrassing, I just… All I ask is that you wait until you’re alone to open it. Okay? Please?”

Now Steve’s _really_ curious as to what exactly Bucky could’ve possibly written to get him of all people feeling this shy. Granted, Steve _has_ seen the cracks in Bucky’s persona when they’re together; him admitting that he loves Steve was definitely one of them. Steve has a theory that Bucky’s a lot more vulnerable than he always tries to come off – that underneath that top layer where he always acts completely confident and experienced, there’s a guy who’s afraid of being hurt… Who maybe _doesn’t_ know exactly what he’s doing, but admitting it is just too hard for him.

Whatever’s in this envelope, it’s something deep. Not knowing what it is and not knowing when he’ll be able to find out is enough to make Steve temporarily forget about the talk he wanted to have with Bucky. It can wait - it’s not like it’s dire or anything. So he just nods and respects Bucky’s wishes; replies, “Yeah, of course…” and puts the envelope away. Then he and Bucky carry on and spend the evening together as they usually do. This time, they order in pizza, then wile away a few hours while they chat and watch a couple movies. When the last movie is spent with more heavy petting and making out than actual  _watching_ , Bucky pants between kisses, "Shower?"

"Yeah," Steve replies, nodding and quickly taking his hand to drag him upstairs.

This of course leads to teasing and hands and tongues and begging - until they're crashing, still soaking wet, into Steve’s room. Steve pushes Bucky onto the mattress, and everything's animalistic and fast-paced. Steve fucks him until Bucky’s coming all over the place and Steve’s slumping down on top of him moments later. He actually wears Bucky out so much tonight that the brunet falls asleep on his belly – face half buried in the pillow – by the time Steve walks back into the room after having left to remove the condom. He looks too peaceful for Steve to even consider waking him up. So, smiling to himself, he gives Bucky’s temple a kiss before pulling on a pair of sweatpants and heading downstairs for a snack.

Bucky’s still in the same house as him, but him being asleep technically counts as Steve now being alone, so he grabs the envelope before settling down on the couch and turning on the TV, making sure to keep the volume low. He turns it over in his hands a few times, always returning to look at the way Bucky wrote his name on the front. Eventually, he rips open the side as quietly as he can and slides the paper out. There are more pages than Steve was expecting – from the looks of it, a good three or four, front _and_ back.

Flipping them open, he starts to read…

> _Dear Steve,_
> 
> _There are a lot of things I want to say but I’m not sure exactly how to say them all. If you can bear with me, I’ve found that sometimes I can do a better job of it if I try to write what I feel down on paper. I don’t even know how to start something like this, or where to even begin… It might just make more sense if I actually start back as far as it counts._
> 
> _For a while, I felt like I couldn’t pinpoint the moment when I noticed you. Like, REALLY noticed you. But I think I’ve figured it out, and by now, I trust that you’ll understand what I’m talking about without me having to explain it. It was back when we were covering the stuff on WWII, do you remember that? We were talking about the whole enlisting thing, and the process of boot camp and all that shit, and to be honest, I wasn’t really paying all that much attention. I can’t even remember what I was thinking about, I just know I wasn’t paying attention to the lesson. Then you were saying something about the misinterpretation people have about that whole ‘sir yes sir sandwich’ – about how they don’t really say that in the army? I think you mentioned it’s more of a navy type of thing or something? Anyways, I guess you were telling us about the difference and how in the army, soldiers actually just say ‘yes, sir’ or ‘roger that, sir’ or whatever, and you gave us an example._
> 
> _I can’t even describe the way your voice suddenly changed. I’d never heard you talk like that before. To be honest, I didn’t even think you had that in you, no offense. But it was like your voice drop and it just… changed? It was like you’d grabbed me and literally pulled me out of my thoughts, and to this day I couldn’t even tell you what about it got to me so much but it was hands down the hottest thing I’d ever heard in my life. That was around the time I started noticing you more, and then it was like I couldn’t stop staring even if I wanted to._
> 
> _This isn’t easy for me to write. Part of me doesn’t even know right now if I’ll have the balls to actually give this to you, but I might as well keep going since I’ve already come this far… I know that I always act like I know everything about everything. I’m confident in who I am and I know you don’t like hearing about this, but we both know that it’s not like I was some sort of prude by the time we first hooked up. But the truth is, I’d never actually really done the things I do with you with anyone else. I’ve always liked people taking care of me during sex and being a certain way with them, but what WE do when we’re together? You know exactly what I’m talking about… I never even knew I really wanted that until that moment in class. And I knew it was YOU I wanted it from._
> 
> _At first I didn’t know that. I tried fantasizing about people I was into at the time but it didn’t do the same things for me, I guess? But if I was touching myself, the second I tried to picture you being THAT way with me, it was like… Like I said, I don’t even know how to describe it. Then I had that dream, like I already told you about. I hadn’t expected the dream, and this is gonna sound sort of stupid but I’d also never come in my sleep before, but like… I woke up completely covered and it was like I could still feel the orgasm in my bones. I didn’t even know what to do with myself, Steve. Despite however I may have acted with you, when this first started, I felt like I’d never seen it coming._
> 
> _Anyways, the dream itself… Well, I pretty much told you the gist of it. I don’t remember how it started, but it was just us in your classroom and you were acting all stern and stuff. Like, nothing like yourself, and I felt scared because you were yelling at me, but it was the GOOD kind of scared? I was also stupidly turned on and I dunno. It was really vivid, but you know how dreams are, all patchy and shit. One second you were at your desk and I was standing in front of mine and then the next thing I knew, you had me pressed against it and you were kissing me. Your tongue tasted like coffee. I think that’s cause I know you’re a coffee drinker in real life??_
> 
> _Anyways, you got me onto my back and wound up sucking me off, and every time I started moaning you’d smack my thigh and say all coldly, ‘Shut up little boy.’ That’s where my wanting you to try calling me that came from, in case you were ever wondering. Like, I prefer the way YOU treat me when we’re together but in the dream, you were treating me like you were just using me to fuck, cause you wanted my body so bad. I know it might sound fucked up but I remember getting so horny from it every time you’d say something to me that all I could do was lie there and let you turn me into some sort of TOY. You wanted me to be your plaything and that was all I wanted too._
> 
> _You got me to go down on you too but I can’t remember the specifics of how exactly we did it. (For the record, you had a nice dick in my dream but it’s even bigger and better in real life and I wanted you to know that.) Next thing I knew I was bent over your desk and you were fucking me so hard that the desk was actually scraping across the floor. You kept saying something about how someone could walk in at any second and that I needed to be a good little boy and keep quiet but I kept moaning anyways. That’s when you shoved your hand over my mouth and started fucking me harder. You called me pretty and you called me your little whore, and you used your other hand to pet my hair sometimes, and I found that every time you spoke nicely to me even though you were being so rough with me, it only made everything feel so much better._
> 
> _I don’t remember how long it actually lasted for in my dream but I bit your hand when I came and next thing I knew, you spanked me for it and I came AGAIN. You didn’t wear a condom I don’t think, I’m pretty sure you came right in my ass, then suddenly I was on my back and you pulled me to you by my chin and kissed me. That’s when I woke up. Funny enough, you kissing me was my favourite part of the dream. That’s actually what stayed with me more than anything else._
> 
> _Like I’d told you, I thought I’d get over you. At the risk of sounding like a complete idiot, truthfully, I didn’t actually ever think at first that you could ever want me back. I know I said all that stuff about why the age difference wasn’t a big deal, that I was over the age of consent, blah blah blah, but I’m also not COMPLETELY unrealistic. Part of the reason I didn’t think you could ever feel the same was BECAUSE I’m so much younger than you. Yes, I thought that was a deal breaker. You may not believe me but I really did try to move on from you. I won’t get into any details but I slept with a LOT of people, Steve. And it was like no matter who I was with, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and wondering what it’d be like with you. Like I said, I almost screamed your name by accident once. I was completely obsessed with you and it all seemed to happen so fast._
> 
> _I don’t say this to hurt you or anything, but the first time I came onto you (that time on your couch), all I wanted out of you was for you to fuck me. That was literally the only thing I wanted from you… Use you the way you used me in my dream so I could get you out of my system. I don’t think I fell in love with you that night, but I think something STARTED for me. Something that started me on the path I’m on now? I don’t know how to say this properly. I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to fall in love with you. Sometimes, when I remember that you’d never ACTUALLY let us be together (and believe me, I understand why, I totally do), it makes me wish I wasn’t. But I DO love you and I can’t help it._
> 
> _When I slept with Clint, I was feeling really sad. I know that’s not an excuse and I’m not trying to make excuses. What I did was a horrible thing, done for all the wrong reasons. I mean, yes I was attracted to Clint and I DO care about him, and I never intentionally meant to use him like that. I think I was just trying to do what I tried to do back when this first started… I was trying to forget about you. You kept saying all these things and you said you didn’t care and it really fucking hurt. I knew we couldn’t date or anything (and I STILL know that, don’t worry), but I don’t want you seeing anyone else and I don’t want to see anyone else either. I know now that you feel the same and always did, but at the time, it felt like you didn’t care if I saw other people and that killed me. So I thought maybe giving myself to someone else would make me care for you less but it didn’t. All it did was make me miss you more AND feel like a douchebag for using Clint like that. I thought I was better than that, but I’d do terrible things just for you to notice me. I feel like I’d kill a guy if you said it’d make you happy. That’s really messed up, right? Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll say something that’ll make you think, ‘Wtf is wrong with this kid?’ Like, it’ll be too much and you won’t want me no more._
> 
> _I don’t think I could handle that, Steve. I know one day you’re going to do what you think is right and put an end to this. I know how you feel about us and I’m so sorry that I inadvertently put you into a situation where you feel guilt with yourself more times than not. I wish I could be exactly what you needed for this to be able to work. All I can do is just ask… Please, please don’t decide to stop this anytime soon. As selfish as I tell you I want you to be with me, I’m just as selfish. I need so much more of you. I don’t ever want to give you up, but since I know one day I won’t have no other choice, please let me have as much time with you as I can._
> 
> _Fuck, Steve, there’s just so much I feel for you that I don’t even know how to say. I don’t want to scare you off. It’s just… Like, you don’t even realize how incredible you are. You really don’t. It’s actually unfair that you’re not only the single most attractive human being I’ve ever met in my life, but then you have a heart of gold, too??? You’re gentle and kind and funny, but then you’re also everything I need and absolutely nothing less, in the ways you know I want. It’s not fair, you shouldn’t be allowed to be so perfect. I’d ask you to stop, but I also really don’t want you to. How could you have ever expected me NOT to love you? I was doomed from the very first second you ever kissed me._
> 
> _I know I’m not perfect, and I’m never going to be. I’m GOING to make mistakes and say things I don’t mean when I’m pissed. As much as I like to pretend that I’m so much more mature for my age than everyone else, I know there are times when I’m not. We’re going to fight sometimes, too. I’m sorry in advanced for any time I fuck up, but I’ll ALWAYS apologize for my mistakes, just as I know you will. It’s just… Fuck, I don’t think I know how to live without you anymore, Steve. I know this just sounds like stereotypical cheesy bullshit, but I’m serious, even if you don’t believe me. I’m sure I just sound crazy. I don’t ever expect you to love me back and I’ll never pressure you to say it, but I’m also not going to lie, I’m going to be one hell of a fucking mess whenever the day comes that you DO make me go. I can’t even really think about it without feeling panicked ~~I can’t even~~_
> 
> _Sorry. I’m getting way ahead of myself. I seriously don’t think I can ever give you this letter anymore. I’m probably going to ANYWAYS, knowing me, but… UGGGHHH, fuck. I sound fucking stupid as shit, don’t I? I’m going to stop talking before I shove my foot any deeper into my mouth._
> 
> _I love you Steve. I’m sorry this is such an awkward ending._
> 
> _-Bucky_

Steve’s eyes are wet with tears, as he stares down at Bucky’s name with a smile. He flips back to the first page and rereads the entire letter two more times before slowly folding it up and holding it to his chest as he looks off in thought. His heart’s pounding wildly, and he feels welled up with so much adoration for this kid that he could break down crying all over again. It makes him feel slightly ridiculous – that’d make _two_ times in the matter of a week, and for someone who spent so many years up to that point fighting any and all tears, that’s a _lot_ of emotion to let go.

In a way, Bucky’s words make Steve ache with the truth Bucky had voiced so well. He knows deep down that Bucky’s right, he _will_ have to put a stop to this one day. But to know that _Bucky_ is fully aware of that, too… To _hear_ Bucky basically say, 'I will never be the one to stop this; when we end, it’s because you ended it'… That makes everything a lot harder. Steve wants so badly to be able to reassure him the exact opposite – go straight upstairs, take his face in his hands, and promise Bucky that he’ll never let him go.

He’s not stupid, he knows there’s a part of Bucky that must be wishing that Steve would fight for their right to be together in the long run. But realistically, it’s just not a possibility. To even for one moment think otherwise will only cause them greater pain down the road. Hell, it’s pretty much the same reason why he’s promised himself that he can’t ever tell Bucky he loves him back. It’s not that Steve doesn’t _want_ to… He just wants to take as many precautions as he can so that he can save Bucky from hurting even more later on. In his gut, Steve knows that if he said it back, Bucky would never be able to take no for an answer…

For as long as Bucky would still want him, he’d never let Steve walk away. And Steve – the poor bastard – would be powerless to do otherwise, even though he’d _have_ to.

But still, Steve understands. He feels it, too; wishes for it just as much. It’s hard to admit to himself that he can’t give Bucky the happy ending he ultimate wants, for _however_ long that happy ending between them would last (be it days, months, years, or forever). But Steve _can_ give him everything shy of that. He most definitely can give Bucky all of himself for as long as humanly possible, in the meantime. Steve doesn’t want anything else.

Slipping the letter back into the envelope, he rises to his feet and then heads upstairs. When he walks back into his bedroom, he quietly goes over to his closet and places it on the shelf. That way, he can go back to it and pull it out to read before bed if he ever needs a piece of Bucky with him, on the nights where Bucky can’t be there. Then he heads over to the bed, getting that small smile back at the sight of his sweetheart still fast asleep and breathing softly into the pillow.

The blanket is draped over his legs and rear, but his back is exposed. It’s the tail end of winter now, and as he looks at the random beauty marks here and there across the canvass of skin, Steve wonders if Bucky’s one of those people who gets summer freckles. He wonders if he’ll get the chance to find out. He tries to make the bed shift as little as he can as he crawls into it, keeping an eye on Bucky’s face. Bucky still looks peaceful; just stirs a bit as his breathing falters in its rhythm before evening out again. His right hand had been hidden beneath the pillow, but he slides it out in his sleep and then brings his fist to his mouth. He looks so adorable that Steve wishes he could fish out his old sketchbook and immortalize him, just like this.

Keeping himself up by the palms of his hands, Steve hovers over Bucky and begins to caress the lightest kisses along his spine. He’s about halfway up when Bucky suddenly inhales deeply and then releases it, signalling that he’s just woken up. Sort of. When Steve peers up to his face, Bucky’s eyes are still closed, but the corners of his mouth turn up in a sleepy smile.

Bucky hums under his breath. “That feels good,” he murmurs slowly, quietly. Steve matches his smile and keeps kissing the pathway up to his face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Bucky continues, still sound partially under. “Wha’ time is it?”

“Almost eleven-thirty,” Steve replies in a soothing tone, now kissing his shoulder. “You can go back to sleep, baby, it’s okay. I just had to do that before I joined you.”

Bucky doesn’t reply right away, and he still hasn’t opened his eyes, so Steve assumes he’s fallen back asleep already. He kisses Bucky’s cheek and then crawls under the covers, snuggling up close and bringing his face in so his lips are brushing against the knuckles of Bucky’s fist. He’s not even tired, truthfully. Chances are, he won’t even fall asleep anytime soon. He just wants to be near Bucky; keep watch over him. Steve thinks he might be the most beautiful when he’s calm and sleeping like this. It’s another one of those times where he doesn’t know how to process all the emotions he feels for this kid. Bucky just brings out everything inside of him.

So he just looks, takes in the artwork that is Bucky’s features. He lifts his left hand and gently runs his fingers through his hair a few times before placing his hand on the side of Bucky’s neck and stroking his jawline with his thumb. It turns out Bucky hadn’t actually fallen back asleep, because his eyes slowly open and he looks right back into Steve’s. His heart forever the traitor, looking into Bucky’s eyes is so unexpected that he almost blurts out, _I love you_ , right then and there. Instead, he just smiles again. Bucky smiles back tiredly; his eyes still glossy with fatigue.

“Hey,” Bucky whispers.

“Hey.”

“You’re starin’…”

“Yeah, so?” he replies, smile widening. He kisses Bucky’s hand. “I’m allowed to look, aren’t I?”

Bucky closes his eyes again and hums, before yawning and jokingly replying in the midst of it, “I guess so.”

“I can stop if you want.”

Just at the suggestion, Steve feels Bucky shuffle his legs even closer to Steve’s. He shakes his head. “No, it’s okay… I like when you look at me,” Bucky says.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Steve can’t help but admit, kissing his hand again. He can’t help it – it’s blocking him from being able to kiss Bucky’s actual mouth, so it has to make do. Bucky smiles again blissfully, and then Steve admits, “I read what you wrote.”

There’s a pause, where Steve actually feels Bucky gain a bit of tension in his body at that. He can see how Bucky tries not to let the nerves translate in his face, though, when he re-opens his eyes and replies casually, “Oh…?” He clears his throat. “ _And_ …?”

“Thank you,” Steve says, not wanting Bucky to worry that he’s about to say anything negative. “You didn’t owe me any explanations, I hope you know that. But it meant a lot to me, what you said… I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Buck. You talk about how great you think I am, when you don’t even seem to realize that you’re just about the greatest thing to ever happen to _me_. I…” ( _Love you._ )“…I really care about you a lot – you know that, right?” ( _I love you so much, Bucky. I wish I could tell you that_...) _  
_

Bucky gives a small nod, now moving his hand from between them to wrap his arm around Steve’s torso and hug them as close together as they can get like this; their lips now ghosting across each other’s. Steve searches his eyes, looking for any possible signs of doubt that he might have to comfort, but he can’t find any. So he tightens his grip on the side of Bucky’s head and nods back.

“Good, ‘cause I do. You’re so precious to me,” Steve tells him. “I can’t say for sure how long we… I mean…” He sighs, smiling fading fast into a frown. Bucky’s smile likewise grows sadder. “You know what I mean. But I can promise that I’ll never do anything to deliberately hurt you. I never wanna hurt you, okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky replies in a whisper. A few seconds of silence pass between them, with Bucky biting his bottom lip. Steve knows he’s thinking something, whatever it may be, so he gives Bucky the time he needs until he eventually says, “M’glad you ain’t sore with me. I didn’t really know _how_ you’d react to it… I was sorta worried that…”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t know if it’d be too much for you,” Bucky admits. “ _I_ didn’t wanna be too much for you, with… everythin’. You know?”

“Buck…” Steve brushes his fingers into Bucky’s hair again, from above his brow down to below his ear. His thumb strokes now across Bucky’s cheekbone. “You’re not ‘too much’ for me. That’s not gonna happen. You’re… You’re exactly what I need. You’re all I want, exactly as you are. Okay?”

Bucky answers him by closing his eyes and leaning in that half centimeter necessary to press his lips to Steve’s. Steve’s baby blues flutter shut at the contact, and he inhales deeply as Bucky tightens that arm around him and lifts one leg to fold it over Steve’s outer thigh. It’s only seconds before Bucky’s parting his lips so Steve can slowly slide his tongue between them, kissing him slowly; tasting him the way he loves to best. Bucky smells like a pillow and tastes like the fuzziness of sleep, but it’s perfection – because it’s _always_ perfection.

Bucky’s still naked, too, and pressed to Steve the way he is, he isn’t surprised when he starts to feel Bucky growing harder against him. But when he rolls them over so Bucky’s on top of him beneath the blankets, Bucky shakes his head as Steve’s hands run over his ass. Pressing their foreheads together, Bucky takes a breath and mumbles, “I don’t wanna… Not right now. Is that okay? I just… Can we just do this?”

“Of course, baby,” Steve breathes back. He doesn’t need to fuck Bucky – that’s not what this is about. He has no problem simply kissing him, for as long as Bucky wants. He could kiss Bucky for hours, it feels so nice… And he realizes that for as much as he’d love to do that, they’ve never actually done just that before. They’ve made out for long periods of time before, sure, but it always led to sex, or at the very least, some form of oral. It’s never been as simple as this, and now, Steve _only_ wants this, because it’s a new experience between them that Steve wants to discover.

So he gently holds the back of Bucky’s head and pulls him back down so they can kiss again. Bucky stays on top of him, and they _do_ bleed away more than an hour doing nothing but that. Sometimes they get a little more riled up and the kisses grow quicker and hungrier. Others, they slow back down and everything’s languid. Bucky keeps Steve’s face framed in his hands and Steve thinks this is what _home_ feels like.

Eventually, not even Bucky can help from anchoring his shins to the mattress on either side of Steve’s hips so he can also start slowly grinding their bodies together while they continue to kiss. It pulls gasps from their lungs; sometimes, a soft moan. Steve slides his hands up and down Bucky’s back, sometimes tangles them in his hair and massages one of his thighs with the other. When it begins to feel too good, he holds onto Bucky’s hips but does his best not to grip him too tightly. He wants Bucky to know that he’ll only take as much as Bucky wants to give him, and he’ll be just as happy for it as he would be with anything else.

Bucky doesn’t speed up, but he also doesn’t stop. His tongue is rolling against Steve’s when he unexpectedly releases the softest, most breathless moan Steve’s ever heard him make. His stomach starts to feel wet, warm… And Steve realizes that Bucky’s coming. Steve just keeps meeting every movement of his lips and holds him through it, until he eventually clutches Bucky to him harder and breaks the kiss to press his forehead against Bucky’s cheek; clenching his teeth and grunting deep in his throat as he fills the inside of his sweatpants with his own release.

Bucky says nothing, and neither does he… Like Bucky, Steve’s climax is quiet and subdued – not like how they usually are together, but feeling a lot more like this moment was meant to be just for them. Bucky just keeps rolling his hips gently and helps Steve through it, before turning Steve’s face back in and cutting off Steve’s soft panting with yet another kiss.

They actually don’t say much else to each other after that. Bucky’s absolutely exhausted because he was already dead tired before they started. He only moves long enough for Steve to peel off his sweatpants and then – since they’re already dirty anyways – use them to wipe up his stomach before ditching them in the hamper until morning. Once Steve’s lying back down, Bucky’s blanketed over him again with his head comfortably rested on Steve’s chest. They lie together in silence, while Steve stares at the ceiling and runs his fingers back and forth across Bucky’s back.

“Your heartbeat sounds nice,” Bucky whispers out of nowhere about five minutes later. He sounds just like he did when Steve had first woken him up. Steve anticipates that he’ll be out like a light any minute now. Right before he passes out, Steve hears him murmur sluggishly, “I love you…”

Then, a few seconds later, he twitches slightly; breathing deepening directly afterwards. Bucky always twitches – just once, just a little – the moment he falls asleep. Steve tilts his chin down to try and get a look at his face, just to be sure. Yeah, Bucky’s got that tranquil calmness across his features again; he’s asleep. Steve goes back to staring up at the ceiling, and he continues to rub Bucky’s back. His body feels relaxed; his mind is calm.

“I love you too, Buck,” he confesses, just loud enough for his own ears.

He only says it because he knows it’s safe. But somewhere inside, he hopes that Bucky will hear it, wherever he is in his dreams.

* * *

The next day, it’s hard not to feel like that conversation Steve had wanted to have with Bucky can afford to wait just a bit longer. Given Bucky’s letter the night before, it seems too weird of a transition to suddenly be like, ‘Oh yeah, all that stuff you said was really touching – can we sit down now and discuss all this BDSM stuff I read about on Google?’ 

He’s got his little notepad with all of his thoughts, face-down and pushed off idly on his dining room table for the remainder of the weekend. Bucky doesn’t think to ask about it, and Steve doesn’t bring attention to it, so he doesn’t see any need to move it elsewhere. Bucky only stays until Saturday afternoon anyways before heading home. He comes back on Sunday, but they eat whatever meals they share in the living room, where they watch TV. The only time Bucky’s even anywhere near the table is for a couple hours Sunday evening while he’s doing some homework.

They’ve gotten used to their routine, and Steve’s come to terms with their relationship enough that it no longer makes him feel queasy when Bucky does something like _homework_ at his own house. For a while, it couldn’t stop serving as a reminder of their age difference; the fact that Bucky’s still a student while Steve’s the teacher, and all the _what ifs_ surrounding them being together in the first place. But these days, it’s not as bad. Steve just makes a point of timing his workouts to whenever Bucky plants himself down to get to it – out of sight, out of mind, so to say. Bucky _is_ incredibly smart and a diligent worker, so usually by the time Steve’s done his post-exercise shower, Bucky’s at least mostly finished on his end.

At that point, he’s completely forgotten about the notepad. When Bucky’s all done, he checks his phone and tells Steve that he has to get going. Distractedly, Bucky scoops up all of his papers and books, stuffing them into his bag as he and Steve share random conversation, neither thinking much of it. He gets the rest of his things together and gives Steve a kiss before heading out the door, happy that they know they’ll get to see each other tomorrow. As it so happens, Steve simply closes it behind him and then heads upstairs to his spare room – set up as his personal office – so he can look over everything in his lesson plan for the week.

Neither of them had noticed that Bucky mistakenly took Steve’s notepad with him when he left.

* * *

 _Very_ inconveniently, it dawns on Steve at the one time where he can’t do anything about it. 

It’s at the beginning of class. He’s at his desk, talking briefly with a student before the lesson actually begins. Everyone else is finishing up taking their seats; getting out their materials. Steve gives his student a polite smile as they turn and walk away, when he notices Bucky staring down into his backpack, his hand deep into the back pocket. Bucky looks confused, which gets Steve curious.

It all happens very quickly. Suddenly Bucky’s pulling out Steve’s notepad – but it takes Steve a second to register that it _is_ his notepad. Then he can practically feel the blood draining from his face. There’s literally nothing he can do but watch. Bucky has it on top of his opened binder now, holding it in both hands and clearly reading everything scribbled on the first page. Within seconds, Steve sees how his brows knit together as his confusion deepens; places the notepad down so he can frame the right side with his arm, immediately understanding that this isn’t something he wants anyone sitting around him to see.

Steve’s mortified. His throat feels tight and his skin’s getting clammier, because all he wants to do is run to Bucky’s desk and snatch it away, apologize profusely and explain himself. What the fuck must Bucky be thinking right now? It’s hard to gauge his reaction – he still looks thrown off, and he’s still reading, but he doesn’t look angry, per se. He doesn’t look upset at all. Granted, he also doesn’t look happy or anything. It’s hard to make out anything beyond the blatant surprise and lack of understanding on his face.

Bucky’s gaze rises and then quickly snaps over to Steve. His brows tighten even more as if silently asking, _Is this yours?_ But they both know it is; he’s graded enough of Bucky’s things for Bucky to know his handwriting by now. Steve must look like a _real_ jackass, because all he does is stare back like a deer caught in headlights. Bucky breaks eye contact to quickly glance around him, making sure that no one’s seen what he’s seen, and then casually places the notepad back into his bag.

Steve manages to get a grip on himself to jump right into the day’s class without seeming suspicious or coming off weird. It’s a blessing that he’s able to get his legs properly moving at all, but being with Bucky has sort of taught him how to throw on an act at a moment’s notice, so… He gets through the afternoon, smiles like he normally does, and carries himself so that no one but Bucky notices that it’s all one big charade.

Bucky knows perfectly well that Steve’s anxious as fuck; doesn’t have to ask to already assume that in his chest, Steve’s heart is going wild all the way up until the bell goes off to signal the end of the day. Yet at no point does Bucky look annoyed with him if their eyes meet in passing. If Bucky raises his hand to give his contribution to the discussion, he holds himself completely normally. Steve might just be acting super paranoid, but he really doesn’t know what to make of it, and he wishes there was something to tip him off in one direction or the other – confirmation of any kind to help him figure out if Bucky’s at all bothered by what he read, or if he isn’t, or _whatever_.

Something. _Anything_ , please. But Steve just can’t get a read on him today.

As everyone’s going, Steve keeps his voice nonchalant and asks if he can have a word with Bucky. “Yeah, for sure,” Bucky replies, gripping the strap of his backpack in both hands as he approaches Steve’s desk. Steve starts making up some bullshit reason for wanting to talk to Bucky pertaining to the work – mostly just stringing mumbled sentences together until the last person walks out of the room. And then Steve’s sighing loudly and dropping his head into his hands, now finally able to drop the act.

“Jesus Christ, Bucky, I’m so fucking sorry,” he says quickly from under his breath. He’s all over the place; keeps shaking his head a lot and trying to stammer out some sort of explanation, but they’re all aborted halfway through in an attempt to start over.

Bucky just keeps watching him. It takes Steve a second to realize that Bucky’s lips are pursed the slightest bit into an amused smirk, like he’s trying really hard not to crack a smile at Steve’s expense. “What – what is it?” Steve groans, staring up at him weakly. He doesn’t know what he missed, but he’s been wound up all afternoon that now he feels more frazzled than ever. So clearly he missed _something_.

Bucky does give him a small smile then. He swings his backpack down his arm and lifts his knee up to rest the bag on his thigh. Zipping it open, Bucky retrieves the notepad and then holds it out for Steve to take. “You should have this back,” he says, sounding way more cavalier about the whole thing than Steve was prepared for. “For the record, I didn’t take it on purpose. I don’t even know how it got into my bag in the first place.”

Steve’s had time to consider that. “It was on my dining room table all weekend. You must’ve grabbed it by accident before you left.”

Bucky barks out an unexpected laugh. They both look to the door, and Bucky whispers an apology as he covers his mouth and tries to stifle it back down. “Sorry,” he says again. Now he really _is_ beaming at Steve, eyes twinkling in that way Steve adores. “It’s just… You had _that_ out there right in the open all weekend, and you never told me? Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve looked at it together.”

“I didn’t – I mean… After the letter _you_ gave me, it didn’t seem appropriate,” Steve replies quietly, frowning hard. “Wouldn’t that have seemed selfish?”

“Uhh…” Bucky draws out the sound and gives him a weird look, still smiling. With a shrug, he answers, “I don’t really see why you think wantin’ to talk about any of that would be selfish, but… Alright, if that’s how you felt, it’s cool. I get it. You _do_ have to admit that it still would’ve been better than me pullin’ that thing out at school when I had no idea what I was about to read,” he points out. Laughing again, he whispers, “I mean, anal plugs? Traffic light rules? There’s a gigantic list of stuff on there I never knew you even _imagined_ wantin’ to try, and I’m expected to sit there like a good little boy and not get to talk to you about _any_ of ‘em?”

“I guess…”

“That was a lot to take in all at once, not havin’ a head’s up and all,” Bucky pokes harmlessly. Steve sighs again, averting his eyes in humiliation. But then Bucky’s expression softens – grows sympathetic – and he murmurs, “Hey.” Steve meets his gaze again and Bucky’s smile is warmer now. “I wanna talk about it, though,” he assures him.

“You mean I’m not the one who… y’know, scared _you_ off now?” Steve says; a lame attempt at a joke that he knows is hardly funny. Everything on that notepad is already enough to have _him_ a little intimidated – he can’t even imagine how it must have come off to Bucky, especially without any context. He doesn’t want Bucky thinking Steve’s actually some sex-crazed pervert who’s been hiding all this kinky shit from him the entire time. He doesn’t want Bucky to think that Steve’s been plotting behind his back to suddenly _do_ all of these things without properly discussing them first.

Steve doesn’t even know yet how much of what he’s written down he’s even comfortable with himself. That’s the entire reason why he wanted them to talk about it.

“Scared me off? Oh please, I’m Bucky Barnes,” the brunet replies coolly, winking at him. They both know he’s only kidding when he continues, “Nothin’ scares me. I’m the kid with the iron stomach. Actually, you know, if anythin’…” he says, tone dropping into something more secretive, more _suggestive_ , “…you just became that much more interesting to me, Teach.”

Steve’s eyes drop down to Bucky’s mouth without control. Bucky sees it and bites his bottom lip, clearly pleased at the change in the air between them. He chuckles – low in his throat, almost like a fucking purr – and Steve swallows the lump in his own, his train of thought blanking out again.

“Can you come over tonight?” he asks, still staring at Bucky’s lips, unblinking.

“Fuck, I’m sorry; I wish I could,” Bucky replies, sounding legitimately regretful. “I got plans with some friends, remember?”

Damn, that’s right; Steve completely forgot.

“Right, yeah - _yeah_ , I remember you saying… No, it’s totally fine, don’t worry about it,” Steve says, forcing a smile. Bucky doesn’t buy it, so the smile _he_ gives Steve is encouraging and offers, “But tomorrow? We’re still on for tomorrow, right? Both my parents are workin’ so I can come over right after class n’ we can spend the whole evenin’ together – how about that?”

Steve nods. “Okay.”

“It’s alright, Steve, I ain’t mad or anything,” Bucky promises, pulling his bag back on. “I’ll text you tonight, ‘kay? You need to talk or whatever, don’t think you can’t text me.”

“Okay,” Steve repeats.

Bucky glances over his shoulder to the doorway and then comes around Steve’s desk to bend forward and catch Steve off guard with a rough, chaste kiss. Like, some sort of testament to Bucky’s words; trying to reassure Steve that he really doesn’t have anything to worry about. That’s more than confirmed when Steve feels a sharp sting in his bottom lip as Bucky nips it, pulling away and ending the kiss before Steve could even gather the brain power to kiss _back_.

“Can’t wait,” Bucky murmurs, opening his eyes to stare into Steve’s glazed ones, before straightening and walking away. “See ya tomorrow, sir,” he calls with his back to him. Then he’s gone.

Steve has to give it at least a few minutes before he can get up and head home himself, thanks to the hard-on he’s now got pushing against his fly.

* * *

A lot of his nerves have subsided by the next day, when Bucky does wind up coming over and Steve knows they’re finally going to have this conversation. A lot of that has to do with the fact that the night before, Bucky had gone out of his way to swear up and down that he wasn’t put off by Steve’s list. On the contrary, some of what he’d seen got him horny, because even amidst hanging out with his friends, Bucky was sneaking his phone out to send Steve some pretty filthy texts. 

He kept saying things like, **_Fuck, you got no idea how excited I am for tomorrow_** , or **_Want you so fucking bad. Wish I could actually be there right now._** At first, Steve had been worried that Bucky was playing things a little too close to the chest; texting him at _all_ while surrounded by other people, let alone texting him such lewd things. But Bucky’s got himself a silver tongue, Steve already knew that. He can wax poetry of the sweetest, _filthiest_ kind, and eventually he was able to talk Steve into sexting with him.

Around ten-thirty, out of nowhere, Steve’s phone had vibrated with a picture message. He’d nearly choked on his own tongue when he checked it out and it was Bucky in the bathroom – wherever he was at the time – with his reflection in the mirror. His pants were down his thighs and he was bent forward a little, looking over his shoulder with his gaze down at his phone in hand. His _other_ hand was spreading himself open so Steve could get a glimpse of that tiny little hole of his. _Steve’s property._

 ** _Wish I had your fingers in me right now,_** the accompanying message said. **_Promise me you’ll fuck me into the floor tomorrow._**

Steve’s hands felt heavy as he scrounged up enough mobility to reply, **_jesus christ you look delicious. fuck, ya, i promise. put just one in there for me?_**

He’s groaning to himself when less than a minute later he got a second picture – this one, a _lot_ more vulgar. Bucky must’ve laid himself down on the floor to take it, because it was mostly an up-close shot of his ass and thighs. But just like Steve requested, he could see clear as crystal that Bucky’s index finger was completely buried in his opening. The only text that came with it was a winking face. Steve couldn’t get his jeans undone fast enough, nor could he take his eyes off of the picture while he conjured up the sound of Bucky moaning as his fist fucked his cock until Steve came with a sharp inhale.

Granted now, there still _are_ some nerves. It’s still a foreign topic to talk about, and it’s not like Steve even really know exactly where the discussion is going to go. He’s comforted in the knowledge that Bucky’s very unlikely to be turned off of him by it – probably the opposite. But still, this is a serious thing in Steve’s mind, and so he wants to treat it as such. At the very least, he can’t let them fool around until they’ve both had the chance to say everything they want to say.

Bucky’s on his couch. He asked to look back over Steve’s list again, and so while he re-reads it, Steve awkwardly makes himself a cup of coffee (for lack of knowing what else to do). He takes a seat next to Bucky and watches him read. There’s a small smirk turning up one corner of his mouth, and sometimes, Steve even hears him _groan_ softly under his breath at whatever it is he’s just read.

Once or twice, Bucky physically has to shift so he can grab the crotch of his skinny jeans and readjust – completely rock hard and making the strain against the material uncomfortable. Steve wants to touch him… Say ‘fuck it’ to his plan to wait and just suck him off or something while Bucky reads, just like that one time Bucky had when Steve was grading his test. He forces himself not to, though, difficult as that is.

“Alright,” Bucky eventually says, announcing that he’s done. He gives Steve a little smile, tapping his fingers off of the paper before handing it over to him. “It might make you feel a little better if _you_ keep it for now,” he says. Then he turns so he’s facing Steve; rests his elbow on the back of the couch and then leans the side of his head against his hand. “So… where exactly did all this come from?”

Steve gives himself the time to think properly before answering, otherwise he’s just going to start tripping all over his speech again. He nervously looks from the notepad to Bucky, to the notepad to Bucky, before settling on his jot notes. “That night, a week ago… That whole--” He struggles to figure out what to _call_ that night, so Bucky gives a quick nod and waves his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“It’s alright, Steve. I know which night you mean,” he says helpfully.

“Yeah… It was just, something… I don’t know...  _happened_ , when we were fucking… I didn’t know what it was, but it sort of freaked me out,” Steve admits quietly. “I’d never felt anything like it before.”

“I knew somethin’ was goin’ on. I could see it on your face,” Bucky says. He sounds curious. “I just didn’t know what it was, and afterwards… I mean, it didn’t seem like a good time.”

“I know, I’m sorry--”

“Don’t be,” Bucky replies, placing his hand over Steve’s. “We’re over it.”

“I know…” Steve says again with a sigh.

“Okay, well… How _did_ it feel? Like – what exactly happened?” Bucky asks.

Steve takes a few breaths and then gets the guts to ask, “How much do you know about things like _subspace_ and stuff? Like, BDSM-type things?”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “Fair bit, I guess? I know what subspace is; I’ve read about it.”

“Okay, well… It was sort of like that, but… different?” Steve tries to explain. “Apparently tops can experience things like that, too. It was like…” His brows crease as he remembers the details to the best of his ability. “First, I felt like I was falling into a dream. Like, the way your body feels _right_ before you fall asleep, and then that lightness when you’re dreaming… Then the best way to describe it is that I got tunnel vision for you...? I don’t… I don’t really know how to describe it. You were the only thing that existed… And it was like I was _convinced_ that if I didn’t take care of you, I’d die. I mean, _actually_ die – that’s how intense it was.”

Bucky’s lips are parted just a slit, his pupils enlarged. He’s breathing just a bit heavier and exhales, “ _Jesus_ …” Steve knows how Bucky gets when he’s praised. He gets off on being the center of Steve’s affections, and this is basically one of the highest forms of flattery Steve could be giving him.

He nods. “Yeah, tell me about it. But at the same time – I mean, you don’t get it. I also didn’t feel in control of myself at all, and that wasn’t okay. I could’ve seriously hurt – anyways, alright, _that’s_ why I wound up looking into it, so I could see if there was an answer.”

“Okay...” Bucky takes a deep breath and visibly squirms in his spot. Steve wonders just how hard Bucky’s fighting to contain himself from leaping on Steve right then and there. Instead, Bucky just lets out a short mixture of a laugh and a groan as he covers his face to rub his eyes. He lets his forearm fall along the back of the couch before leaning his head against it and peering back to Steve adorably. His cheeks are flushing. “Alright, well… You wanna talk, so let’s talk,” he says, “before I get ahead of myself here.”

Steve nods. His hands twitch with another overwhelming need to start touching Bucky, so he just tightens them into fists on his lap. “Do you think we have a BDSM relationship?” he blurts out. There’s literally no other way for him to ask without getting straight to the point.

Bucky looks thrown off by that and starts laughing again. “Do _you_ think we do?” he retorts. “I _dunno_ – I never really thought about it like that. No, I guess? I just… saw us as _us_ , whatever that is. Why?” he asks slowly, narrowing his eyes with a suspicious smile. “Is that the sort of thing you’re tellin’ me you want?”

“No!” Steve answers _way_ too quickly. He tries to backpedal when he realizes that his reaction might’ve given off the wrong impression: “I mean… Fuck, I don’t know. Those kinds of relationships are _fine_ , it’s just…”

“That’s not necessarily what _you_ want?” Bucky suggests.

“I… Yeah, I guess so?” Steve says. “It’s not something I feel I fully understand," he corrects himself. "Maybe with time I’ll feel differently, it’s just that… Slapping a label onto what we have seems a little intense.”

“Then why do we have to?” Bucky asks. His hand is still over Steve’s fist, covering it up, and he gives it a squeeze as he scooches closer. “Maybe that’s what we have and maybe it isn’t. We don’t need to call it _anythin’_. I mean, it’s not like we had before, right? Like, what is it exactly you want when it comes to this, Steve? You’re obviously bringin’ it up for a reason… And I saw that list, don’t forget – there’re definitely some stuff on there that you seem like you wanna try, and those definitely ain’t vanilla.”

Steve thinks about how exactly it is he feels. “I mean, that’s why I wanna talk about it,” he says. “I like the way we are together, I just don’t think I’m ready to call it by a name like that yet. Like… We can have what we have and do certain things without doing _others_ , right?”

“Of course.”

“Okay…” Steve frowns, staring down at their hands, before taking a deep breath and meeting Bucky’s eyes. “I like when you call me ‘sir’, and I like the way you want me to treat you… but I don’t see myself as your ‘Dom’, and I don’t want you to see me as one either. Does that make sense?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, shrugging. Steve feels so stressed just coming clean about all this stuff, but Bucky doesn’t seem to be thinking nearly as deeply into this as he is. He’s so much more laid back than Steve is; it’s another one of those times where Steve wishes he didn’t overthink things so much when it comes to them.

“Is that okay, though?” Steve asks, wanting to be sure. “‘Cause… if _you_ wanted to think of me like that, I don’t wanna say no or make you feel bad for wanting that.”

“I’ve never even thought of you in that sense, to be honest,” Bucky says. “Like, I guess textbook definitions and shit would put you in the Dom category, but I’ve never explicitly thought you were my Dom or nothin’. You’re just… my Steve,” he laughs. “I like to call you ‘sir’ and I like when you _dominate_ me, sure – but it doesn’t need that specific title, no. Not if we don’t want it.”

“Have you ever seen yourself as my sub?”

Bucky hums quietly, looking off in thought. His eyebrows rise – the corners of his mouth stretching and briefly turning downward – as he makes a noncommittal humming sound. “No, not really. If you called me your sub, I’d honestly just picture myself as a sandwich.” He giggles at his own joke before looking back to Steve and cuddling up close so he can lay his head on Steve’s shoulder. Still peering up at him, he says, “I like bein’ your little boy. That’s what I wanna be.”

Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s neck. Steve’s eyes close, lips parting with a sigh as Bucky slings his arm across Steve’s stomach and begins to kiss soft lines along his skin. “That’s what you are,” Steve breathes out. He unclenches his right hand to slide it over to Bucky’s thigh and squeeze, trying to keep himself anchored. “Buck, we’re not done talking yet--”

“Keep talkin’, I’m listening,” he hears Bucky mutter back, then he’s right back to kissing him.

Steve’s lids feel too heavy to re-open, so it’s just easier to keep them closed. With a small nod, he swallows and then says, “We should have… something – a word or something like that – in case we ever need to stop. I read that people usually either use the traffic lights, or they have one specific word, or they combine both.”

“Traffic lights,” Bucky answers easily. He moves that arm from around Steve’s stomach so he can reach up and hold onto the other side of Steve’s neck. When his lips are right below Steve’s ear, he sucks just the tiniest bit, for just a moment.

“ _Fuck_ … Okay… Um, limits – we need to talk about limits,” he croaks. He keeps squeezing Bucky’s thigh without meaning to.

“There’s not much I wouldn’t let you do to me,” Bucky hisses into his ear. It results in a full body shiver to shoot up Steve’s legs, up his body, until it feels like it’s exploding through every strand of hair on his head, leaving his skin covered in goosebumps.

“There has to be something,” Steve argues.

“You tell me yours first.” Bucky coats his collar bones with kisses, until he seems to grow impatient at having to manually tug down Steve’s collar. He’d changed into a t-shirt when he got home, so it’s easier for Bucky to bend to the side and shove it up Steve’s stomach so he can start planting his lips all over his abs. Steve’s left hand palms the back of his head; his eyes opening so he can stare down at Bucky from beneath heavy lids.

“Nothing that’ll leave serious marks,” he tells him. “No sounding, or watersports or… fecal matter.”

Bucky snorts, disrupting his rhythm. Steve hears him mutter, “Gross, no thanks,” before running his tongue along one side of the deep V in his hipbones. “Okay,” Steve continues, “um… Nothing that I feel can seriously hurt you. I can’t do that. If… _fuck_ … if you want me to call you names and stuff, I can probably work up to it if you really want it, but I don’t think I could ever do that on my own. Oh, and no hitting you.”

Bucky makes a very quick sound of protest. Pouting, he tries to give Steve his best puppy dog eyes and argues, “Aww! But what if I _really_ want it?”

That face on its own is almost enough to make Steve take it back, but it’d be for all the wrong reasons. So he shakes his head and slides his hand down to stroke Bucky’s cheek. “No,” he says, a bit more sternly. “That’s a hard limit for me. I’m never going to hit you. It’s fine if other people like that, but it’s just not something I’m comfortable with doing to you.”

Bucky looks like he wants to fight him on it again. But after a few seconds of thinking better on it, his eyes soften and he nods, respecting Steve’s comfort levels. “Okay,” he says. Straightening up, he gets onto Steve’s lap and then helps the blond tug his shirt off. Bucky runs his hands up Steve’s chest before holding onto either side of his neck and leaning in. With a playful smirk, he teases, “You just don’t wanna mark up my pretty face.”

“I don’t,” Steve agrees, sliding his own hands up Bucky’s shirt so he can feel his skin under his fingertips. “You’re too beautiful for that. Why ruin perfection?”

“God, you’re fuckin’ cheesy,” Bucky replies, before they close their eyes and Bucky covers Steve’s mouth with his. For a few minutes, they do nothing but kiss. Those were pretty much the extent of Steve’s hard limits – that he can think of for now, at least. He knows if any more come to mind, he’ll bring them up. He almost thinks that time for talking is over when Bucky says, tilting his face to the other side, “I like to be punished, but I need it with praise. Don’t ever treat me like I mean nothing to you.”

“I won’t,” Steve promises. He pushes Bucky’s shirt up his abdomen. Bucky leans back so he can lift his arms above his head and Steve can yank it off. Then they’re both diving back in.

“I like the idea of bondage, but nothin’, like, _too_ extreme,” Bucky offers next. “I like feeling helpless, but it can’t be too much. My wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed is fine; hands behind my back or feet bound together is fine… _Maybe_ standin’, with my hands somehow above my head. But my feet gotta touch the floor… Nothin’ beyond that, though. I won’t like it.”

Steve nods, exhaling, “Okay.” Bucky grabs his hands and shoves them to the front of his pants, silently telling Steve what he wants. As he gets the belt open, pops the button, and then fumbles with the zipper in Bucky’s jeans, Steve can’t help but feel like hearing Bucky’s limits is even hotter than he thought it’d be. He hadn’t really known _what_ to expect. But it’s Bucky _trusting_ him enough to be open and honest – about the good and the bad stuff. It makes their connection even deeper, and that’s an intoxicating feeling in and of itself.

“I can’t think of anything else,” Bucky says, frantically pulling a random packet of lube and a condom from his pocket at the same time that Steve’s finishing up with the front of his jeans. He ditches the condom off to the side, breaking the kiss to put enough space between their faces that he can hold up the lube packet and Steve can see it. “If I think of any more, I’ll tell you later.”

Steve takes it from him, leaning back in and kissing Bucky again. He works quickly to tear it open and get some onto his fingers; instinctually leaving enough for his cock later, just in case. Bucky’s pants are tight, but with the fly down, there’s enough slack for Steve to squeeze his hand down the back of Bucky’s boxers and reach his asshole. He does nothing but slide his middle finger up and down the crack while Bucky moans and starts to roll his hips over him.

“That’s not a very long list,” he points out, opening his eyes enough to look into Bucky’s when Bucky looks back.

“There aren’t many things I don’t want you to do to me,” Bucky answers.

Steve pushes his finger into him, their eyes still locked. Bucky’s nose scrunches up, eyes squeezing shut, and the moment he grunts is when Steve closes his again and kisses the sound away. The fingers of his other hand tangle into the strands at the back of Bucky’s head as Steve holds him close and fingers him as deeply as he can. A second finger is eventually able to join the first, and after forcing Bucky’s tight walls a bit wider by scissoring his digits inside of him, Bucky’s whispering, “Fuck me, sir, fuck me…”

After nodding in response, Bucky gets off of him so he can tug off his pants. Steve only gets as far as pushing his own down his thighs and freeing his cock before Bucky’s shoving the condom into his hand and panting frantically, “That’s fine, that’s _fine,_ you’re good.” So Steve leaves them on and works on getting the condom out and rolled down the length of his erection. Bucky, meanwhile, handles the lube; quickly squeezes the rest into his palm before grabbing Steve’s dick, kissing him again, and stroking the slick all over him until he’s well-coated.

Steve groans into his mouth, the pressure around his dick a miraculous feeling, considering he hasn’t been able to have Bucky like this in nearly two whole days. (Too long for either of them.) Bucky never breaks the kiss as he straddles him again and then reaches one hand behind him to angle Steve up to his hole. When he starts to sink down, the tightness envelopes Steve’s cock instantly, and Steve knows – like every other time – that there will never be another thing in this world that’ll ever feel as good as when he disappears into Bucky’s body. Bucky gasps at the same time that Steve’s mouth falls open with a loud breath. Then they’re grabbing each other _tighter_ and kissing more roughly as Bucky fully seats himself; starts to rock back and forth.

After almost no time at all, Bucky’s able to start rising and falling around him, fucking himself off of Steve’s dick. It’s quicker, because they both know what they’re after. This won’t be the only time they fuck tonight, so this one’s only about getting each other off as soon as they can. They both need it, and only the other can truly provide it.

“Th-The list of things you d… _do_ wanna try,” Bucky says, panting harshly against Steve’s mouth. “Tell me… Tell me what you wanna do to me…”

All the things Steve remembers reading about come rushing back to mind – nothing in particular, just dozens of flashing images of Bucky in _so_ many positions… Steve doing _so_ many things to him… He isn’t even sure he can think to name them all right now. “Tie you up,” he chokes out (the first coherent thing he can think of properly). “Only like you said you wanted, but… But like that, _fuck, Bucky…_ Yeah, tie your wrists to my bed posts.”

Bucky tips his head back with a long, breathy moan. He nods, with his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open; tilting his hips around so he can try and get Steve’s cock to graze his prostate. “Blindfold me,” he shoots back. Steve pictures it and digs his fingers deeper into the flesh of Bucky’s hips.

“Orgasm delay,” Steve lists next.

“Orgasm _denial_ ,” Bucky counters. “Fuck, Steve, scratch me.”

Fuck, he has no problem picturing that. But when he says, "Okay," Bucky shakes his head and begs, “No, I mean _really_ , Steve, fuckin’ scratch me – right now. Down my back.”

Steve watches his face as he quickly brings his hands to Bucky’s shoulders and digs his nails into them. He doesn’t want to split the skin, but when he _slowly_ drags them down Bucky’s entire back, the way Bucky stills and then cries out loudly gives Steve the impression that there are still probably some deep, angry red lines painting his body now.

“Make me crawl on my hands and knees,” Bucky keeps going, still reveling in the ecstasy of the sting; hissing with appreciation and a silent snarl when Steve goes back to gripping Bucky’s waist with an almost cruel pressure.

“All night long?” Steve asks.

“ _Mm!_ Fuck, Steve, _yeah_ – all night. Make me sit at your feet while we watch TV, talk to me like I’m your pet…”

Steve isn’t even fully serious when he adds to the fantasy, “I’ll buy you a collar…”

 _That_ makes Bucky stop completely. For a second, his eyes widen and he just stares at Steve in shock – like he hadn’t expected that suggestion at all. Or, maybe that he just hadn’t expected that suggestion from _Steve_. “You’d do that for me?” Bucky asks quietly, sounding completely in awe. “You’d give me a collar, sir?”

Steve’s heart flattens against his rib cage. He uses the opportunity to keep Bucky still and be the one to start lifting his hips off of the couch; taking over and fucking in and out of him. “You’d like that?” he asks curiously. _Oh god, please say yes._ Steve never knew how badly he needed that until now.

Bucky nods so enthusiastically, it’s almost mind-blowing how eager the notion has him. “Could it be black?” he asks. He squeezes his eyes closed with a groan, now gripping the back of the couch… Gets lost for a few seconds in the way Steve’s pounding up into him, then manages to push out, “With a tag? ‘Little boy’ carved into it? We could… make it a special thing… Like, if I’ve been _really_ good… _Oh my god_ … You’d let me wear it around the house?”

“I’ll get you the prettiest collar I can find,” Steve says. He’s not even fully sure if Bucky’s being serious or if he’s just caught up in the moment, but if Bucky wants it, Steve will only happily give it to him. So he continues, swears to him: “Made of leather… Only the best for my precious boy, Buck… You could s-sit on the floor and I could pet your hair…” (Bucky whines embarrassingly loudly at that.)“Treat you so good – take such good care of you, baby… You could wear it whenever you wanted to, you’d look so sweet, _fuck_ … _Jesus Christ…_ Wearing something to show the world that you belong to me, isn’t that right?”

Bucky’s falling apart. Steve isn’t even sure how much he’s capable of talking back anymore, what with how loudly he keeps moaning in response to Steve’s words. Steve hopes he’s picturing it all in excruciating detail. Bucky kisses him feverishly; pleads, “Fuck me on the floor,” and Steve can’t resist that. He picks Bucky up like he weighs nothing and has him on his back in the blink of an eye. He resumes pumping his hips, now able to slam into Bucky harder this way. Bucky grabs for his cock so he can start jerking off in time with Steve’s rhythm.

“What else do you wanna do to me, sir?” Bucky asks desperately. “Don’t stop, _please_ don’t stop; gonna make me come like this… God, _fuck,_ Steve,” he whimpers.

“Toys,” Steve says, namely because his brain isn’t fully functioning and he’s having trouble putting actual names to actual objects. He just thinks _toys_ , and everything sounds like a great idea at the moment.

“Fuck me with a vibrator,” Bucky says, the words coming out in a high-pitched whine.

“And anal beads?” Steve suggests.

“ _Mm,_ fuck yeah _…_ I’ve always wanted to try a… a cock ring…”

“How about plugs?” Steve asks curiously, at the same time that he drives back into him and hits that little sweet spot hiding inside.

Bucky’s eyes roll up into his head with a cry. He arches his neck and bites his bottom lip, stifling more loud noises getting trapped in his throat – before chanting out a string of _yes_ ’s and _please_ ’s and Steve’s name, like he’s Bucky’s salvation itself. Steve nods to himself, leaning down and tilting Bucky’s chin so Steve can lick into his mouth. He thinks he can hear Bucky whisper, “Gonna come…” so Steve picks up his speed and fucks Bucky exactly the way Steve knows he likes best: deep and hard and on the right side of fast.

He’s seconds away from his own orgasm; Steve can feel it coiling and getting stronger. Bucky’s about to give into the pleasure when he begs breathlessly, “Come with me, come with me, _please_ , come--” Steve recognizes that Bucky’s so fucking close that he’s giving Steve permission to go at whatever speed he needs to in order to finish as quick as he can, too. He stops making each thrust pointed and instead just slaps into Bucky’s ass, hurried and shallow.

He’s thrilled when he actually comes first, with Bucky starting to spurt between them only a few moments later. Bucky can always differentiate the sounds Steve makes during sex, and when he hears the one that signals Steve’s climax, it only makes Bucky moan with a smile on his face as his own hits him. Bucky’s _still_ smiling when he pulls Steve in for that kiss Bucky’s always after right around this time; still streaking his stomach and sighing with content into the blond’s mouth.

“Ah, holy _fuckballs_ , Steve – you fuck so nice,” Bucky praises him, laughing as he struggles to get his lungs to work again properly. “You deserve an award. Or a puppy. Or… cookies. I’ll make you cookies; one huge one that just says ‘Thanks for your perfect dick’ in icing on top, ‘kay?”

Steve snorts softly, chuckling back. He strokes the sweaty strands of Bucky’s bangs off his forehead, then leans in and kisses along his cheek before carefully pulling out and getting the strength to stand back up. He grabs a cloth and ditches the condom while Bucky cleans himself up. When Steve takes Bucky’s outstretched hand to help pull him up, Bucky just yanks him back down to the floor with a toothy grin. Steve winds up tickling Bucky’s sides, until they’re rolling around the floor and wrestling each other playfully.

After tiring themselves out, they laze on the floor for a while longer, until the topic of dinner comes up. They agree on something simple – Kraft Dinner – and while Steve’s whipping it up, Bucky sits on the counter in nothing but his boxers and teasingly points out, “You ever notice that you get a lot less shy ‘bout talking about kinky shit when we’re actually foolin’ around?”

“Huh… I guess I do…” Steve hadn’t actually realized that, no. He always _does_ feel a bit more closed off to voicing certain things – until Bucky’s getting him riled up, and then it’s like he slips into his role and those things don’t bother him anymore. “I blame you,” he chooses to joke. Bucky pretends to be offended and kicks Steve in the ass lightly, making them both laugh.

Hearing Bucky’s laughter helps Steve make sense of it, because the answer is actually really simple: it’s because of _Bucky_. Like everything else, it always comes back to Bucky. The moment things become intimate or sexual between them, Steve’s protective instincts kick in, and then it’s always all about Bucky in his eyes – taking care of him, making sure Bucky feels the best he can feel. Steve doesn’t get self-conscious about that sort of stuff when he’s caught in the moment. because _in the moment_ , inhibitions and fears and doubts don’t exist. They don’t matter. Only Bucky matters.

Later on, after they’ve grabbed a shower, Bucky’s lazing in Steve’s bed with the notepad back in hand. He’d pointed out that there were things he saw on Steve’s list that they’d forgotten to talk about – more things he’d be interested in potentially trying and such. Steve shaves the traces of stubble from his cheeks while they call back and forth to each other while he’s in the bathroom. When he turns off the light and heads over to the bed to join him, Bucky remembers something else he wants to add to his own list of things to try.

“You ever thought of maybe letting your facial hair grow in?” he asks innocently.

Steve sheds his briefs and climbs under the covers, not thinking too deeply into the question. “I dunno,” he answers. “I had a short beard here and there back in University, but I guess I just got used to being clean shaven.” He notices the way Bucky’s eyeing him mischievously, so he arches one eyebrow and asks, “Why? Do you want me to have one?”

“Sorta,” Bucky says, putting the list away on the table next to the bed. He lies down on his side facing Steve, pillowing his head on his arm. “I just keep wonderin’ what you’d look like with one. I think you could pull it off.”

Steve knows there’s more to it than that. Chuckling, he prompts, “ _And?_ What else?”

Bucky holds his stare almost challengingly, before giving in and grinning, biting his lip. “And… did I mention that I have a thing for beard burn?”

“Oh, you _do_ , do ya?”

Bucky hums. “Yeah, I do. I mean… You eatin’ me out with a beard? I keep imaginin’ what that’d feel like with you. So…”

Steve kisses him, making a low, pleased sound. “I think I can try that for you, yeah. If you don’t like how I look though, I’m shaving it off.”

“I bet you look sexy with a beard,” Bucky murmurs, tone dropping and making his current smile look all the more sinful. That look, it melts hearts; could give Bucky a whole army of his own at the snap of his fingers. He pulls Steve back down to him and starts kissing him deeply again, slowly opening his mouth and getting Steve to meet his tongue halfway.

Steve chuckles breathily and teases, “Someone a little turned on again?” Bucky's only got a couple hours left before he has to be home for his curfew - but Steve should really know better by now. If Bucky decided he wanted to fit in  _five_ more rounds somehow, he'd find a way.

Bucky scoffs between kisses. “As if I never _not_ wanna fuck you.”

Steve hums, smiling as he slides his hand down and takes Bucky’s leg, rucking it up so he can pull it over his hip. He has absolutely no problem with that. He maps Bucky’s upper body with his hand while they make out, but then Bucky surprises him by nipping his bottom lip and saying in a husk, “There was something else on your list that we never talked about…”

Steve tries to remember everything he’d jotted down, but he thought they’d covered everything on there by now. His mind drawing a blank, he replies, “Oh yeah? What was that?”

“‘ _Bottoming..._ _question mark, question mark, question mark'_...” Bucky answers slowly. Steve opens his eyes, looking away and his brows furrowing, even as he meets another one of Bucky’s kisses. He’d completely forgotten about that one. Pulling away a little, Bucky opens his eyes and keeps his tone soft as he asks, “You been wondering about bottoming for me?”

It’s not overly that simple. Yes, Steve has thought about it, but the reasoning behind it feels very convoluted; difficult to articulate. And it’s not that he’s panicked at the idea of being entered like that, it’s just… that’s a whole new thing, on what feels like a completely different level than what he’s experienced so far. They don’t talk about it, because there doesn’t seem to be a point, but Steve _still_ isn’t completely sure what his sexuality is. He still considers himself straight, with the exception being that this is _Bucky_. He’s tried to see if he feels any attraction to other men (even just in porn), but it’s not really there in the way he feels it should be – definitely not clear-cut enough of a thing for him to know for sure, ‘Yep, I see guys the same way I see women.’

Bucky’s the only one he’s ever felt like this with. So, the idea of opening himself up to having another guy _inside_ of him feels a little scarier than being the one to do the fucking. Steve knows it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but he can’t help how it makes him feel. At the same time, though, there _is_ that curiosity, mixed with the fact that he wants to give that part of himself to Bucky – for him and only him to have. He simply doesn’t know how to gather the nerve to actually make that jump.

“I… uh…” Now Steve’s shaking his head a lot and chuckling like a moron, and _Awesome, Rogers, you are the King of charming responses. Keep it up._

Bucky looks back at him curiously, then smiles in understanding and cups his face, soothing him quickly, “Hey, it’s alright, it’s alright, Steve, _hey_ … Calm down, it’s fine. Just take a breath. I wasn’t tryin’ to make you feel like we _had_ to or nothin’. I was just really curious about it, that’s all.” He laughs again. “Just… Tell me your thoughts on it? Did you actually wanna try something like that, or did you not really know?”

“Sorry,” Steve says, smiling weakly as he clears his throat. Leaning away, he lowers his head to his own pillow and exhales a deep breath while the gears in his head spin. Bucky was right: Steve really _is_ a lot more awkward talking about this kind of stuff when he’s not fucking around with him. “Yes, I’ve thought about it,” he eventually answers. “But… no, I don’t know if I’m for sure comfortable with it. I have no way of knowing if I’ll like it… But then I’d feel like an asshole if I wanted us to stop in the middle of it. I don’t wanna hurt your feelings.”

“Steve, no.” Bucky puts his hand on the side of Steve’s neck and holds onto him tightly. “I’d never get upset because we tried somethin’ and you didn’t like it. And I mean – I’m not gonna argue with you if you were to say you just wanted to fuck _me_ and that’s it. Are you kidding? Like, yeah, I’d love to try fucking you, but I’m a bottom at heart and we both know it. I _like_ gettin’ fucked, so… No, you don’t have to worry that you’d hurt my feelings, okay?”

Steve nods, trying to force himself to believe that. “It’s just… I… It feels like a _lot_ over the last week – when it comes to everything I read about, I mean. It got me thinking a lot about the way we are together, and how you always want me to treat you. I love the way you get with me, but… I guess a part of me doesn’t understand it. I’m not you, so I don’t know _why_ you like when I act a certain way with you, or what it is aboutit that turns you on. I thought maybe… maybe if I knew what being on the other side of things was like, I’d get it more. I’d have a better idea of how it is I make _you_ feel.”

To his surprise, Bucky smiles unexpectedly and lets out a quiet huff of laughter. Steve gives him a quizzical look, to which Bucky shakes his head and gives his lips a peck. “You don’t even know it, but that was actually one of the most romantic things you probably could’ve ever said to me,” Bucky tells him, nearly _glowing_ at the way Steve’s making him feel. He continues, “A part of you wants to give yourself to me because you wanna feel what I feel, maybe so you can take even better care of me in the future – is that what you’re trying to say?”

Leave it to Bucky to properly summarize Steve’s thoughts in one try, after Steve’s been fumbling over them blindly. “Yeah, that’s it…”

“Chivalry will never be dead so long as you walk the planet, Steve Rogers,” Bucky jokes adoringly. He strokes Steve’s cheek, looking into his eyes. When he smiles, Steve smiles back shyly.

“How _does_ it feel for you?” Steve asks. “Like… why do you need it so much?”

“Are there really words?” Bucky replies, his voice so soft. “Can _you_ properly explain why you need what you need from _me?_ ” Steve realizes he’s right – that’s an incredible thing all by itself. He makes Bucky feel things that can’t even be described. He gets it, he really does. After shaking his head _no_ , Bucky’s eyes avert away in thought. “I dunno,” he keeps going anyways, evidently bound determine to try his best. “It’s just like… It’s like a drug for me. I don’t know _why_ it happens, but the second you start takin’ care of me, I feel like I’m drunk or something. Any tension I had just leaves, and it’s like I’m getting that fix I’ve been needing all day to calm me down. Like… it’s… complete and total peace, I guess?”

He meets Steve’s eyes. “Everythin’ else shuts off for me and I can be free for a while, y’know? You take away every problem I got, or worry, or stressful thing, and you take care of me because then for just a bit, I don’t gotta keep takin’ care of _myself_. Sometimes, it feels like flying. Other times, I feel so heavy I don’t even know how to move. But no matter what, the second you touch me, I just know you’ll make everything okay.”

“I really make you feel like that?” Steve whispers. He’s speechless; completely prickling all over. All he wants is to make Bucky feel exactly like that – so to know he’s been doing his job right is unfathomably gratifying... Makes him feel so fucking honoured to have Bucky trust him like this.

Bucky nods. “You do,” he breathes back. His eyes slowly roam all across Steve’s face as he lifts his hand and runs his fingers through golden hair. “It’s incredible, you don’t even know. You just gotta give yourself over to it…”

 _I want that_ , Steve thinks. He opens his mouth to say it out loud, but his throat feels tight.

“You gotta trust me with everythin’ you got,” Bucky continues, now trailing the tips of his fingers down Steve’s temple.

“I do trust you…”

“I can take care of you,” Bucky promises him, grey eyes locking back to his. He says it with so much conviction that Steve knows that he believes him. “I swear I’ll stop if you want me to stop; won’t take it too fast. Let me take care of you… I can show you what it’s like…”

Steve’s mouth is dry. His pulse feels too quick and light now – with fear and exhilaration and arousal – and all he can do is breathe, “Okay…” Because he can do this for Bucky; he can _try_. If he doesn’t like it, they can stop. He knows Bucky will stop, and everything will be okay. Steve really wants to like this,  _god_ , he hopes he can give this to Bucky…

The word is only just leaving his lips when Bucky moves, pressing their mouths together as he coaxes Steve to roll onto his back. Bucky knows that Steve needs to take this cautiously slow, so Steve’s grateful that they do nothing but kiss for the first few minutes. Even still, when Bucky eventually reaches down to touch him, Steve panics and thinks for whatever reason that Bucky’s _already_ making a move to go for his ass. He freezes and whispers quickly, “Wait, _wait_ \--”

But Bucky just replies, “Shh, it’s okay, Steve... I’m just gonna touch you here, okay?” And then he wraps his fingers around Steve’s cock to show him that he means no harm.

Steve’s face get hot with embarrassment. He’s breathing too roughly already; completely taut all over and feeling so nervous that he might be starting to shake. He closes his eyes, his brows pinched in the center, and nods. He feels Bucky’s lips press to his jaw and then start kissing his neck, and when he squeezes Steve and starts to move his hand up and down, Steve moans under his breath.

“Relax, baby, I got you,” Bucky says soothingly into his ear.

A sudden jolt of pleasure shoots up Steve’s spine and he moans a second time – _louder_ , not having even meant to. Bucky’s echoing the words that Steve’s so used to saying, and they sound so different in Bucky’s voice. He’s also never heard Bucky calling him ‘baby’ before. There’s something incredibly alluring about its connotation; that right now, Steve is _Bucky’s_ baby, and Bucky sees _him_ as something to treasure and dote on. There’s something different about Bucky acting like this, but it’s sexy. Steve’s almost twice his age, and yet Bucky’s taking control of the situation like they were reversed. It’s starting to make Steve feel a little helpless, but in a good way. He wants to hear Bucky call him that again… Talk to him like that _more_ …

Bucky keeps things slow, just like he said he would. He sucks gingerly along his neck – marks that’ll fade within minutes – while he jerks him off at a languorous pace; marks deeper, longer lasting bruises along his collar as he switches between stroking him, circling his thumb against Steve’s tip, and reaching a bit lower to massage his balls. He doesn’t make any attempts to sneak his hand any lower, and even verbally asks Steve if it’s alright for him to start sucking him off. Steve’s chest feels so constricted that he can’t even vocalize the answer. He can only nod.

Bucky kisses him on the lips, then his cheek, then his forehead. When Steve opens his eyes to look up to him, Bucky instructs, “Relax… Deep breaths… I won’t do anything unless you tell me it’s okay… Trust me, Steve. I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you…” Steve nods again, which earns him a tiny smile. Bucky draws out his path down to Steve’s erection; crawling over Steve completely so he can hold himself up by the palms of his hands and lavish Steve’s body with kisses.

He licks over Steve’s nipples and sucks on them lightly; pays attention to each and every rib, his stomach, his hips… Then he’s settled comfortably between Steve’s legs and welcoming Steve into his beautiful mouth, lowering his head while he keeps staring up at him. Steve’s used to Bucky’s blowjobs, so this isn’t anything new for them, but everything feels heightened right now in light of his nerves. Bucky’s given him head countless times before, but for Steve, it almost strangely feels like the _first_ time all over again. Past the heat and the wetness of Bucky’s cheeks, Steve acutely feels the way his dick is sliding up along Bucky’s tongue. He feels like some inexperienced _boy_ who’s never had his dick sucked in his life… And the way Bucky’s eyeing him makes Steve want to come on the spot.

There’s none of that usual submission on Bucky’s face. He looks as in control and as confident as the day he’d first seduced Steve in his living room. His gaze is somehow darker and attentive _-_  like he knows Steve needs him right now and he wants to make sure that _Steve_ _knows_ that Bucky’s there for him, and he’s going to make it good.

Even the way Bucky moves his mouth over him seems different this time. By making it all about tending to Steve instead of Bucky being desperate for Steve to take care of _him_ , there’s no urgency in his actions. He breathes through his nose – sometimes releases a little groan here and there – but works Steve’s cock like he’s telling him, ‘You can come whenever you want, or you don’t have to if you’d rather wait. I’m here just for you; I’ll do whatever you want me to. You’re my only priority.’

The part of Steve that’s scared to take things any further is heavily debating on just letting Bucky bring him to orgasm and then using that as an excuse to stop. But more and more of him doesn’t want to stop. He’s afraid, but he wants to keep going. So after almost ten minutes of Bucky patiently licking and sucking along him, he forces himself not to back out, and says, “You can… We can do something else now…”

He hopes Bucky knows what he means. He knows he’s not ready for actual sex just yet, but he also isn’t sure whether he’s asking for Bucky’s mouth a little _lower_ , or if he’s asking for his fingers. Both options seem just as daunting. Bucky makes that decision for him when he frees his mouth to kiss Steve’s inner thigh and ask, “Can I eat you out? You okay with tryin’ that?”

The first reaction is to feel mortification. Steve’s suddenly very self-conscious – is he clean enough down there? What if Bucky doesn’t like the taste? _Does_ he have a taste? Will it feel weird? What if Steve doesn’t like it? What if he does? Will Bucky look at it and find it unattractive? He’s never had anyone look at his asshole before.

He’s squirming against the mattress, unable to make a decision. Bucky’s looking up at him patiently, waiting for an answer, and all Steve can do is avert his eyes the second they meet his... because he feels so fucking _naked_ all of a sudden. But then he feels Bucky’s hand touch his and entwine their fingers together. Lips press to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh again and Bucky murmurs, as if sensing his worries, “It’s okay, Steve. I know it feels weird the first time. But we showered together before this, remember?” Steve shudders when Bucky kisses over to his balls and licks over them slowly, one at a time. “I don’t have to if you don’t want me to. But just know that _I’ll_ like it. If you’re feelin’ shy, don’t have it be because of me; I love your body.”

Steve bites his lip, frowning up at the ceiling while he mentally scolds himself and keeps repeating, _Don’t be such a pussy, Rogers…_ Out of nowhere, he feels pressure right below his sac, and an unexpected pleasurable sensation makes his cock twitch against his stomach and a gasp to draw in his lungs. He looks down to Bucky with wide eyes; sees him with his head tilted to the side so he can run his tongue over the spot where Steve’s perineum is, before pressing against it again with his finger. Steve’s back bows as another one of those incredible shockwaves pulses through him.

“Ah, fuck!” he hisses through gritted teeth.

Bucky chuckles. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist… Do you like that, though? I don’t have to go any lower if you don’t want. I could always try and make you come like this… Your prostate’s _right_ on the other side if I touch around a bit for it; that’s why it feels so good.”

“I know…”

“I know you do,” Bucky replies, like it’d be foolish for him to think otherwise. “You always fuck mine so well, I _know_ you know exactly where it is.” After rubbing it lightly again – just to get Steve jolting and gasping some more – Bucky gets a heated smile and asks, “Whaddaya want, baby?” It’s Bucky calling him ‘baby’ again that gets Steve tossing his head back into the pillow and moaning raggedly with an exhale. Bucky asks, “Do you want me to go lower?” And Steve just nods frantically. If Bucky will keep talking to him like that, Steve will try anything at this point.

The _what ifs_ in Steve’s mind come back when he feels Bucky’s thumbs spreading him open – but then they blank out just as fast when Bucky’s hot breath is washing over his skin, and suddenly he feels his tongue licking over the tight ring of muscles. Bucky does it once and then pulls back; not saying anything, but Steve senses that Bucky’s glancing up to him, just to check in and see if there are any signs not to proceed. Steve’s head is still digging back into the pillow, however. His mouth’s hung open but no sound’s coming out. Steve feels the mattress shift a little between his legs and then he feels the wetness of Bucky’s tongue gliding over him again.

Steve doesn’t know how to describe how this feels. Mentally, he actually _is_ trying to focus on figuring out if he actually likes it or not, so he doesn’t make much noise. It’s alien, that’s for sure… Feels really _dirty_ , in a good way… But also too exposing, in a bad way. It’s when Bucky licks flat over his hole and then probes into it with the tip of his tongue that Steve hears him groaning; darts his tongue against him quickly before growling softly, “ _Fuck_ , you taste so good.”

The noise Steve makes just at hearing that is _horrifically_ needy - and it startles his own ears. He doesn’t even sound like himself. Feeling a little overwhelmed, he pats the mattress with his palm a few times and says in a shaky voice, “Bucky, _Bucky_ , stop, one sec…” When Bucky pulls back, Steve can feel his eyes on him again, but Steve can’t meet them. Rubbing his eyes with his other hand, he tells him, “I… I don’t know how much I like this right now… I think it’s too much.”

Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before resting his chin on Steve’s thigh. “Is it because you can see me? Makes you feel a bit too much on display?”

Steve considers that. He supposes that might have a little something to do with it. Having someone put their mouth on such a private area for the first time _is_ intimidating and can be tricky business on your self-confidence. To be able to see them while they do it – and more than that, they can see _you_ ; your face, the expressions you’re making – could maybe be why Steve doesn’t think he can handle it just yet.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly with a sigh. “Maybe.”

“Would it be better if you turned over?”

“…I don’t know,” Steve mutters again, beginning to feel frustrated with himself.

“Do ya wanna stop?” Bucky asks gently. He’s already running his hand up and down Steve’s side to try and comfort him.

Steve presses his lips into a deep frown, releasing the air in his lungs. He _doesn’t_ want to stop, not fully – but something in him just got distressed at how intense and peeled open the whole thing was making him feel. His thoughts on it are conflicted at best. Feeling like a failure, he nods. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can try again one day. But – _fuck_ , I’m sorry, Bucky.”

Bucky shakes his head, kissing his leg before swiftly crawling back up to cradle Steve’s face in his hand. “No, don’t be sorry – it’s okay. I’m not mad, see? I’m not mad.” He kisses Steve before Steve has the chance to consider the fact that Bucky’s tongue was just in his ass. Nothing tastes any different, so Steve can choose to overlook it and kiss back. Weirdly, being reassured that Bucky isn’t upset with his desire to stop actually makes Steve feel immensely relieved.

He moans brokenly into Bucky’s mouth when he feels friction around his cock again, as Bucky starts idly stroking him back to full hardness. Bucky just clucks sympathetically and croons, “I know, baby, I know…” And it’d almost feel patronizing - the way Bucky’s talking to Steve like he’s incapable of taking care of himself.

Except that it’s exactly the opposite: he _is_ treating Steve like Bucky - and _only_ Bucky - can make him feel good. In response, it triggers the destitute side of Steve that suddenly becomes dependent on him and thinks, _You’re right; how could I have ever doubted that? I need you to make me feel good. If you don’t let me have my release, I’ll never get it and I need it, Bucky, please, I need it..._

Is this sort of what Bucky was talking about? Steve can hardly remember exactly how he’d phrased it, but he thinks it feels similar. He holds Bucky’s head close so the brunet can keep kissing his lips and licking into his mouth, until Steve feels Bucky let go of his dick in favour of brushing the tips of his fingers against the corner of his mouth. Steve opens his eyes to find Bucky already looking down at him, _watching_ him...

“Open up for me, Steve,” he encourages, and his voice sounds like velvet. “I wanna finger you.”

Steve could say no, and he trusts that Bucky wouldn’t push him on it if he did. But instead, he turns his face towards Bucky’s index and middle fingers and closes his eyes again, sucking them into his mouth and bobbing back and forth long enough to wet them with his spit. Bucky reaches between Steve’s legs as he returns to kissing him. Steve’s already tensing like crazy; definitely shaking now.

“We don’t have to do this,” Bucky reminds him.

Steve, ever stubborn as a mule and not wanting to show signs of weakness like that, just downplays how freaked out he is and says, “Just take it slow.” His voice cracks anyways.

“I will, I promise. I’m just gonna start with one, okay?”

“Okay…”

Admittedly, when Bucky’s finger first touches his opening, Steve freezes up all over again. Bucky tries to allay some of his tension by doing nothing more than rubbing a continuous, light circle over him. “Relax,” Bucky breathes; repeats it a few more times when, despite Steve nodding, he continues to tremble.

It takes several minutes before Bucky feels Steve’s calmed down enough for him to push the tip of his finger inside of him. Steve’s body goes into fight or flight mode, and his muscles instinctually try to stubbornly refuse Bucky any entry. A split second later, with just the tiniest bit more pressure, Steve feels Bucky’s finger slip a little into him. The pressure that’d had him straining for a moment ebbs, but it’s replaced by an uncomfortable sting. He grunts. Bucky reacts by kissing his temple.

“Worst part’s over, Steve,” Bucky says. “You did so good for me… _God_ , you’re fuckin’ tight… Still tensed up on me, ain’t you? It’s okay, baby, you’re takin’ this so much better than I expected. I’m already past the first knuckle, only a little more to go. You need me to slow down or stop or…?”

“No,” Steve manages to reply, sounding laboured. Having something up his ass feels fucking weird, but Bucky’s praise makes him feel so fucking _sweet_. He wants to keep being good for Bucky and keep impressing Bucky and making him happy. He just hopes that it’ll start to actually feel pleasurable after a while.

“Okay.” Bucky kisses around his cheek, his ear, and his neck again. He’s hard as a rock against Steve’s hip. That only makes Steve want to be good for Bucky even _more_. He likes knowing that just fingering Steve is turning Bucky on this much. When he finally feels Bucky’s knuckles pressing against his ass, he lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and Bucky whispers _“Fuck”_ as he glances down at his own hand.

“You’re so fucking hot, _Jesus Christ_ , you feel amazing,” Bucky keeps complimenting him. Steve stares up at him in a daze, breathing roughly, so Bucky dives in and kisses him harder than Steve was anticipating. “Look at you, huh? Took my whole finger on the first try without even askin’ me to slow down or nothin’. Does it hurt at all?”

“Not really,” Steve says truthfully. “It’s a bit uncomfortable, but… No, not actual pain.”

“Do you wanna keep going?”

Steve takes the back of Bucky’s neck in hand and chases back Bucky’s mouth, answering him with another kiss. Bucky pauses for a second and then starts to retreat his finger before pushing it in again shallowly. A few minutes pass of Steve grunting and squeezing his eyes shut tighter at the intrusive sensation of that finger carving into him, weakening the muscles making his hole so resistant - the random times where it’ll sting just a bit more than others. Finally, though, Bucky’s able to fuck him with it in a steady rhythm.

Steve’s clutching onto the back of Bucky’s neck in a grip that _has_ to be painful, but Bucky doesn’t pull away or ask him to ease up. Their foreheads are pressed together because Steve’s too distracted to kiss back anymore. Bucky’s busy watching him, his eyes heavy-lidded, and Steve’s own are squeezed closed while he pants, sometimes gritting his teeth. The longer Bucky works Steve open, the more it actually feels good. By the time Bucky’s breathlessly asking, “Another?” Steve doesn’t even hesitate to nod and groan back, “Yeah…”

Bucky pulls his hand away completely in order to grab Steve’s bottle of lube and get some proper slick onto his fingers. Steve finds the sudden loss an unpleasant feeling. He feels like he’s gaping – too stretched and loose. Funny enough, it actually makes him _want_ Bucky plugging him back up again so he doesn’t feel like he’s been left open like that. He gets his wish when Bucky’s working the two fingers into him before Steve can start _begging_ for him to. The original sting returns – because it forces Steve to strain a little more – but Steve hears himself moaning with relief all the same. Next to him, Bucky releases a short moan, too.

Steve thinks he’s pretty much used to how it feels, for the most part, so adjusting to two fingers takes less time than the lone one had been. He can handle Bucky thrusting them in and out of him, and even starts to find himself _wanting_ Bucky to get a little rougher. His neediness is as naked as his body is, so Bucky takes the hint and fingers him faster, harder... At the same time, the boy can’t help himself – Steve feels Bucky’s cock sliding against his hip, smearing his skin with precome, as Bucky starts clumsily rutting against him to get some stimulation of his own.

Bucky’s panting with Steve, too. He swallows noisily and then whispers, “That feel good?”

Steve nods.

“You like that?” Bucky asks next.

Steve nods again, completely lost in the feeling of Bucky swirling his fingers around inside of him. Pain in his earlobe catches him off guard when Bucky suddenly drives his teeth into the soft flesh. “Use your words like a _big_ boy, Steve,” Bucky hisses a bit more sternly. “You like it?” His voice is about twice as low as it normally is. Steve’s never heard him sound like that, and it’s easily one of the hottest sounds in the world.

“Yeah,” Steve utters hoarsely.

“It’s been a long time since I did this to someone,” Bucky confesses. “Only topped two or three times before, not too long after I lost my virginity… So, this might work and it might not, but… I’m gonna try to find your prostate, okay?”

“‘Kay…”

Bucky starts curling his fingers around in search of it. His gaze trails away while he zones out and stares off in concentration. Steve’s now the one who can’t take his eyes off of Bucky’s face. He didn’t want to go asking him if Bucky’s ever topped someone before, and it definitely wasn’t something Steve wanted to picture. To an extent, knowing he won’t be Bucky’s _first_ for that experience is a little disappointing. But at the same time, from the sounds of it, it’s been a few years - Steve realizes Bucky must’ve been fairly young when he had sex for the first time, and Steve doesn’t even want to _touch_ that subject – and that puts enough distance between him and Bucky’s past lovers that it can still _feel_ like Steve might as well be his first.

He tries to help Bucky out a little when several minutes pass and Bucky still hasn’t found it yet. “Don’t put them all the way into me,” he suggests. “It’s not that far in. Just a couple inches.”

Bucky glances to him briefly and then gives a small nod. Clearly, he’s not above his ego; is willing to accept Steve’s experience on the subject before dismissing it simply because of the role he’s trying to play. After all, Steve’s proven that he knows what he’s talking about. He pulls his fingers most of the way out and then starts feeling around a little lower. Steve isn’t sure he’s going to be able to find it – and given that he’s never had his own prostate touched, he isn’t even sure how _he’ll_ know when Bucky’s found it – when out of nowhere, Bucky grazes something and Steve feels like a small electric shock just raced up his spine.

“Fuck!” he shouts in surprise. Yeah, _fuck_ is right - he absolutely felt that. Turns out it’s definitely easy to tell when it’s touched after all.

Bucky jumps, just as unprepared, and then looks to Steve with wide eyes. “There?” Bucky quickly asks.

Steve’s already nodding. “Yeah, _yeah_ , there.”

Bucky bites his lip and replicates what he just did. When it sparks the same reaction from Steve – this time, making him arch his neck and groan wobbly – Bucky huffs a rush of air and starts moving his fingers faster, in a constant rhythm over that same spot. Steve’s seeing stars. It’s no fucking wonder Bucky always unravels whenever Steve does this to him, because Steve’s never felt anything this good in his life.

He can faintly hear Bucky moaning under his breath beside him; feel Bucky’s cock humping against his hip harder. Bucky’s muttering things, _Fuck, Steve, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, you got no idea how you look right now. That feel good? You like that? Auh… God… Can’t believe we waited so long to try this, you look so hot, fuck, yeah – that’s it, baby, moan for me. Fuuuck, you sound so sexy; so fuckin’ tight for me…_

Steve’s head is spinning. Everything feels so good and sounds so good and he can’t wrap his brain around the fact that it’s _Bucky_ doing all this when Steve’s so used to being in control. They aren’t even having sex yet and he knows now that he definitely _does_ has a muchbetter understanding for why Bucky seems to crave this so badly all the time. It’s like he no longer has a single care in the world – selfishly, he’d rather just keep letting Bucky have his way with him. The world can fuck off for now.

Next to him, Bucky’s growing impatient. “God, Steve, I need to get inside you,” he growls; crushes his lips to Steve’s, and their tongues dart against each other hastily. Bucky rubs Steve’s prostate particularly hard, making him actually _whimper_. Steve never thought he’d do that, but he doesn’t even give a shit at the moment. He can look back on his behaviour later and get embarrassed over it if he must. For now, that can fuck off, too.

The sound only drives Bucky crazier. “Please let me fuck you, _please_ , m’dying here,” Bucky pleads.

Steve starts to nod. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, fuck me…”

“ _Oh_ , god, you sound – _fuck_ , Steve…”

Bucky pulls his fingers out and nearly breaks the drawer with how eagerly he pulls it open to grab a condom. Steve isn’t sure what position they’re going to do this in, so he stays on his back until Bucky’s opening up the wrapper and saying, “Maybe lie on your side. You can hug the pillow that way.”

Steve nods, but before he turns _away_ from him, he pushes himself up so he can take Bucky’s hips in his hands and get his own mouth on Bucky’s cock. He hears a moan from above him while he swallows as much of Bucky down as he can, then Bucky’s grabbing his hair with his free hand. Steve’s only able to suck back and forth a half dozen times before Bucky tightening his grip and forcing Steve’s face away. His nose is scrunched up and he says, “Gonna make me come if you keep that up.”

He lays his hand into Steve’s chest and shoves him back down against the mattress. Steve’s hair is all mussed up and his face is flushed. He smirks up at Bucky, eyes glassy and partially out of it. Bucky just rolls his eyes with a smirk of his own and gets the condom on, then some lube. Steve turns onto his side, with his back to Bucky. Then the bed dips behind him as Bucky lies down, getting in close. The tip of his cock feels wet as Bucky fists it and angles it around to find Steve’s hole. Now that the moment is here, Steve can’t help from tensing back up.

“You sure you still want this?” Bucky asks him in a gentle tone, kissing his shoulder. Steve stares ahead at the wall, unable to answer right away. But he knows he isn’t about to back out – he wants this, he does – so it’s only a matter of time before he nods affirmatively. He feels Bucky kiss his shoulder again. “It’s gonna hurt a bit more than my fingers did,” he warns him.

Steve closes his eyes, unable to stop himself from frowning. He calms himself down the best he can with some deep breaths. “I know,” he answers.

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky whispers into his ear… and then begins pushing into him. Steve’s eyes squeeze shut with an abrupt, distressed inhale. Bucky takes it slow; keeps sliding further and further into him, stretching him wider. There’s a lot more pressure and a bit of pain this time, yes, but… Bucky’s worked Steve up so much that above all else, Steve instantly feels that _thing_ Bucky was talking about: that sense of alleviation, of freedom. Bucky’s inside of him and just like that, the switch in Steve’s brain turns off and his mind feels so much calmer. On his end, he knows he’s never felt this close to another person. He’s so glad it’s Bucky. He wouldn’t want it to be with anyone else.

Bucky moans. “ _Oh_ , I love you,” he repeats. He buries his face between Steve’s neck and shoulder when his pelvis presses flush against Steve’s rear. Extending his arm along Steve’s stomach, Bucky pushes his hand to the blond’s chest and keeps Steve pinned to him as he starts to rock his dick within him. Steve groans.

He feels feverish kisses against his skin again. “My little virgin, so fuckin' tight,” Bucky mutters. His voice sounds like gravel. “Not a virgin no more, you… _mm…_ l-let me steal that from you… It’s all mine now, Steve, you c… can never get it back… I’ll always own that part of you, forever…”

Steve’s eyes roll up into his head at the combination of Bucky’s talking and the feeling of Bucky’s cock moving within him. Half of his face is buried into the pillow; his right hand digging its fingers into it as well. He hadn’t even considered that… Bucky’s right; in a way, he’s taking Steve’s virginity. The thought gets him so horny and wanting _more_ that he hears himself rasping, “Fuck me…”

Bucky hugs their bodies tighter together and gives Steve what he wants. Biting unforgivingly into his shoulder, Bucky snarls deep in his throat and starts pulling out more and more so when he fucks back in, Steve can _really_ feel it. Bucky’s just as much of a talker regardless of whether he’s giving or taking, _clearly_ , but on the whole, he’s a lot quieter as a top. His cries and whines get replaced with low, breathless groans and whispered curses. Steve’s too focused on wanting to feel every last fucking thing to have much thought for being loud – although sometimes, Bucky _will_ give him a particularly powerful, amazing thrust and it’ll pull a small cry from his lips.

Bucky eventually grabs Steve’s face and gets him to twist back a bit so Bucky can claim another kiss from him. Moaning, Steve reaches his arm up to palm the back of Bucky’s head and hold him closer. Bucky picks that moment to start slapping into him even harder. Steve’s mouth tips open, groaning spottily, in time with the thrusts.

“ _Fu-u-uck_ ,” Steve whines.

“Yeah… _Ah_ … God, you look so pretty getting fucked,” Bucky tells him. “Feel so good, Stevie, you feel so _fuckin’_ good…”

 _Stevie._ Steve doesn’t know where that even came from and he doesn’t care, because _that_ right there is the single hottest fucking thing he’s ever been called. _Ever._ It makes him feel small – not in a humiliated way, but in an affectionate one; really does make him feel in this moment like he’s something so, so incredibly special to Bucky. He’s been good enough for Bucky to reward Steve with a pet name. He’s definitely making a mental note to ask Bucky to call him that more in the future.

“I wanna try something,” Bucky says.

“Okay.”

Bucky slows down his speed, and then smiles apologetically, dropping his forehead to Steve’s. “Ugh, I don’t wanna stop fuckin’ you for even a second,” he complains. Steve gives him a strung-out little smile in return and kisses him, before Bucky sighs loudly and announces, “Okay. Let’s make this as quick as possible. I want you off the bed so you’re standin’, but with your stomach on the mattress. ‘Kay?”

Steve narrows his eyes – his smile growing curious – but he replies, “Alright.”

Bucky nods, pulling all the way out. Steve gets that uncomfortable feeling again and grimaces. “I know, m’sorry,” Bucky laments, moving to get off the bed himself. “That never feels any less weird, for the record. ‘Kay, seriously, Steve, get off the bed. I wanna get back in you.”

Steve scoffs, getting his limbs to function as necessary. “You were doing so well at the dirty talking up ‘till now,” he jokes. By the time he gets his feet on the floor and stands, Bucky’s rounding the bed and meeting him, pulling him close so they can kiss again, smiling against each other’s mouths.

“You want me to get rough with you, sir?” Bucky asks coyly, opening his eyes to give him his most teasing, _filthy_ look. Steve bites his lip, still smiling, and answers, “Try me…”

Steve hadn’t even registered that Bucky’s right hand was combing its fingers into the back of his hair. Suddenly, they’re grabbing it and yanking Steve’s head back, making him gasp and close his eyes. Bucky leans in and bites Steve’s other shoulder possessively before giving him a bruising kiss, placing his other hand on Steve’s waist. Steve may be stronger, but Bucky’s still pretty fucking strong, too; catching Steve off guard especially, he makes it look effortless to break the kiss and spin Steve around before Steve really knows what’s happening. Bucky presses against his back and shoves him belly-down against the mattress, and _fuck yes_ , the second the side of his face lands against the bed, he’s fisting his hands into the blankets and _dying_ for Bucky to drill back into him.

It feels so fucking good when Bucky’s back inside of him seconds later that Steve’s gritting his teeth hard enough to make his temples hurt, turning his face into the mattress and shoving his forehead down against it. Standing up like this, Bucky has better leverage to hold Steve’s hips and thrust into him deeper and rougher and _it hurts_ but _it’s so good, it’s so fucking good._ Bucky starts groaning louder; rubs one hand up and down Steve’s spine before gripping his shoulder and literally pulling Steve back to meet every one of his thrusts. At one point, he even gingerly caresses Steve’s ass before cracking his hand off of it, _just_ to show Steve what it feels like to be spanked.

Nothing Bucky does even slightly borders on being ‘too much’ for Steve to handle – on the contrary, everything just feels better and better, until Steve’s got the blanket between his teeth as he wheezes into it… The only way to muffle his sounds.

“Fuck, _fuck_ …” Bucky pants when Steve starts to push his ass back on his own accord. Steve can’t see the way Bucky stares down at Steve’s asshole straining nice and big around his cock, or the way Bucky’s mouth is hanging open, _or_ how he tosses his head back when he lets out a pitchy groan. All Steve’s really focusing on is how _good_ that cock inside of him feels, and how he keeps needing just a _little_ bit more.

Bucky stops moving altogether. That only makes Steve start trying harder to fuck himself back – since he doesn’t know _why_ Bucky’s not moving anymore, but he knows _he’s_ sure as hell not finished. Behind him, Bucky moans again.

“ _Oh god_ Stevie – yeah that’s it, take it,” Bucky’s whispering. “Fuck yourself off me… _Mm, oh my fuck_ , _unh_ … That’s… _Mm_ , baby, that’s so fuckin’ hot… Fill that greedy little ass up…”

Bucky’s way too goddamn sexy right now, talking to Steve like that, and Steve can hardly stand it. Everything Bucky does – not just right now, literally _always_ – makes Steve’s stomach flutter and his knees weak. He’s never going to get enough of Bucky; never get tired of him. It almost gets Steve feeling needy enough to admit right then and fucking there that Steve’s actually in love with him, too. _Crazy_ about him – Bucky turns Steve into a fucking lovesick sap. It’s probably a good thing that Steve’s heaving so strongly that he doesn’t think he can actually form words, otherwise that probably _would_ wind up spilling out. Instead, he continues to shove himself back and forth and impale his ass with Bucky’s perfect dick.

Bucky winds up grabbing him back in his hands to take over again, suddenly fucking into him with purpose. He chokes out, “Fuck, Steve, m’gonna come…”

“Come for me,” Steve breathes, wanting nothing but that: for Bucky to get that pleasure he deserves so fucking much.

“You close at all?” Bucky asks.

Steve feels bad that he has to answer _no_. It’s not that it doesn’t feel amazing, it’s just that he hadn’t even thought to put his hand on himself or pay his dick any attention of its own. He’s been too caught up in what they’re doing, so his erection’s admittedly flagged down a bit. He can feel Bucky falter uncertainly from behind him, like he hadn’t realized that Steve wasn’t as close as he is, and he doesn’t want to let him down by finishing before he can get Steve off.

But Steve doesn’t care – that’s not what this was about for him. He understands, because he knows when _he’s_ fucking Bucky, he doesn’t generally like to come until Bucky does. So he gets why Steve’s answer threw Bucky off and probably has him panicking inside, but Steve really _is_ fine with it.

So he assures him, “It’s okay, Buck. I want you to… Come for me, baby, it’s okay…”

For a moment, Bucky still doesn’t seem sure. He doesn’t _say_ anything in response, but Steve gets his answer when Bucky tightens his grip on his hips and pounds into him faster and faster. Steve grunts, letting himself go limp against the mattress and focusing on memorizing every detail of how Bucky feels inside of him like this, since he knows it’s almost over. With a low cry, Bucky thrusts all the way into him and then stills, before shallowly pumping within him again as he fills up the condom. Steve smiles to himself; the noises Bucky makes during climax always so melodic to his ears.

As soon as the orgasm finishes passing over him, Bucky’s pulling out and telling Steve, “Back on the bed. Roll over.”

Steve does as he’s told. Now able to see Bucky’s face, the first thing he notices is how disappointed with himself Bucky looks. Frustrated would be the second. Steve tries to give him a tired smile. “Bucky, it’s alright,” he says.

“Shut up,” Bucky mutters harmlessly, wrangling Steve’s legs over his shoulders.

“Buck, you don’t have to do that. I don’t need to fi--”

“Don’t even start with me, Steve,” Bucky interrupts. His voice sounds flat, but there’s a silent plea in his eyes when he looks up at him and adds, “Please just let me do this.”

“…Okay, baby,” Steve replies gently, reaching down to pet his hair. “For the record, that felt incredible. I loved every second of it.”

That gets one side of Bucky’s mouth lifting into a tiny smile. His eyes soften, still locked with Steve’s, and he quietly thanks him before wrapping his lips around Steve and closing his eyes, now focusing only on helping Steve to get off, too. Bucky’s mouth is so perfect and he knows all the tricks that Steve responds to best, that it’s not long at all until he’s completely thickened up between his lips again. Steve raises one arm up and bends it so he can rest the back of his head on it. That way, he doesn’t have to take his eyes off of Bucky.

Bucky hollows out his cheeks and puts in his all to make it especially good for Steve. Steve continues to pet his hair while he watches and exhales short, deep moans that vibrate in his chest. Bucky knows Steve’s especially sensitive to eye contact whenever Bucky goes down on him, so he makes a point to peer up at him from beneath his lashes as often as he can. It’s truly a testament to his skills that he’s finally able to get Steve coming into the back of his throat in just a few short minutes.

The orgasm licks along his entire body and feels amazing, but what Steve likes even more is that it seems to make _Bucky_ feel a lot better, less guilty. When he pulls his mouth off of him, he gets a proud half-smile, as if to say, ‘ _Good_ , _that’s better._ ’ Steve clasps onto the back of his neck and pulls Bucky up to him so he can thank him with a kiss.

“I really wanted to be able to get you off while fuckin’ you,” Bucky admits, crossing his arms across Steve’s chest and resting his chin on them. “I would’ve lasted longer if you didn’t feel so damn good.”

Steve chuckles. Brushing Bucky’s bangs off his forehead, he replies, “It’s fine, seriously.”

“Maybe one day though?” Bucky asks slowly, slightly playful. “Maybe this doesn’t have to be the _only_ time?”

Pretending to think about it, Steve looks off and takes his time inhaling deeply. After releasing it, he gives Bucky a smile and says, “One day. Can’t say for sure _when_ , but… Yeah, one day.”

Bucky grins. “Did you actually like it then?”

“I did – lot more than I was expecting to, actually.”

Bucky’s smile softens. He pinches his bottom lip beneath his top teeth for just a second before saying, “The way you make me feel… It’s like a hundred times more than that. Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it? D’ya think… maybe you understand a bit better now, though – how you make me feel?”

“I do,” Steve answers. “Certainly helped that you’re pretty sexy when you take control like that. It felt easier to fall into character,” he jokes.

“Yeah right – like you were puttin’ _any_ of that on,” Bucky quips. “You’re hardly a good enough actor.”

Steve laughs. “You know I’m kidding. Although I do mean it… It was hot to see that side to you for a change.”

“You too,” Bucky admits. “It’s not often I get to see you fall apart like that. But, y’know…” He kisses Steve’s chest before shuffling so he can kiss his lips again. “I still like the way you are with me best,” he says. “I am _all_ for switching some more in the future, but you’d better not let me forget my place.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve assures him. “Much as I may have liked that, I like taking care of you more.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds in silence. Bucky’s giving him that trusting, vulnerable, _adoring_ look that he seems to be giving Steve so much more lately since confessing his real feelings. The more Bucky looks at him that way, the harder it is for Steve to stop himself from saying it back.

Right on cue, Bucky murmurs, “I love you, Steve. Just want you to know that. So much.”

“I…” Steve finds himself starting to reply on autopilot. He realizes what almost just happened and abruptly cuts off the rest of that sentence. Bucky’s smile disappears, his expression growing puzzled as his brows crease. Steve can physically _see_ in Bucky’s eyes, the moment when gears are starting to turn in the boy’s head. So, in an attempt to change the topic, he pulls Bucky back toward him and mutters, “C’mere.”

He’s thankful that Bucky is only unresponsive for a _second_ … before he kisses back and lets the subject drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NEXT CHAPTER: Bucky unexpectedly shows up at Steve's place completely hammered, and confesses to a lot more than Steve thinks he can bear hearing. After a day of nursing Bucky's hangover and taking care of him, what starts out as their usual, playful sex unexpectedly turns into something _very_ different...**
> 
> Another gif I found that reminds me of teenage!Bucky:
> 
> Sexy gifs/images for your viewing pleasure today:
> 
> 1\. Pretend this is Bucky, and life feels magical
> 
> 2\. Look at that ass jiggle <3
> 
> 3\. No explanation required
> 
> 4\. Okay, Bucky doesn't have a tattoo, and Steve _does_ \- but we can pretend that that's bottom!Steve
> 
> 5\. UGH SO FRACKING HOT JUST KILL MY ASS PLEASE
> 
> As usual, most - if not all - of these were brought to my attention thanks to the amazing blog, [stevebuckypornlookalikes](http://stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr.com/). See you next time, sex monkeys! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky enjoys the benefits of Steve growing a beard, someone special from Steve's past come back, and Bucky finds out some information that he has a hard time swallowing. Turns out, Bucky's been hiding some pretty heavy things regarding just how exactly he feels about their relationship - and Steve's unprepared for the effect it has on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all? STEVE WITH A BEARD:
> 
> Literally exactly how I picture Steve looking with a beard in this story, except a bit blonder <3
> 
> You know the drill - be mindful of the tags, and heed the Underage warning. If it upsets or offends you, don't read. If you still choose to read, don't bother to comment and complain. (Seriously, why waste your time reading something that upsets you anyways? lol) My [Tumblr](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/) is basically a place for Stucky, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Marvel, smut, or inappropriate humour - so if you feel like coming and hanging out with me, please do <3 **P.S. I am currently no longer taking prompts for the time being, due to an overwhelming number of them already, as well as me wanting to start focusing more on chaptered, more fleshed-out stories again. If you have a prompt you'd really like to give me, feel free to come message me on my Tumblr. But just know that I can't promise that I'll take it at the moment. Thank you!** **WARNING:** Underage drinking in this chapter. Bucky is completely wasted at one point, to the point where some of his behavior is inappropriate. During the worst of it, Bucky - thinking he's being flirtatious - tries to throw himself at Steve, who is clearly uncomfortable and keeps asking him to stop. Though, in Bucky's drunken state, he doesn't stop right away, the situation is eventually shut down. However, this section of the story is CRITICAL to the plot, so if the drunkenness itself bothers you, please stop reading at the line _"The kid is shitfaced"_ and pick back up at _"'You're mad at me,' Bucky says, looking crestfallen..."_. **WARNING:** Small reference to homophobic violence. Though short, it references a main character once having been hospitalized after almost being beaten to death due to their sexuality.

Steve forgot how annoying growing in facial hair can be.

For the first week, it feels like his fingers are super glued to his face, scratching his jawline and leaving his skin a bright pink that never gets the chance to fade. It also requires a bit more of an active maintenance. At least when he’d start to grow in some form of a five o’clock shadow in the past, it was easy to get rid of. Being clean shaven makes it easy; just get in, get out, with none of that fancy stuff. It all goes. But during that awkward stage between _not_ having a beard and actually having one, there’s a lot of touch-ups he finds himself having to make so he doesn’t walk around the hallways at work sporting the whole ‘homeless person’ look.

His colleagues aren’t used to seeing him with facial hair. In fact, Steve can’t recall a time where they actually _ever_ saw him with any, so it’s a bit of a change for them at first. Needless to say, plenty of harmless jokes get thrown his way at first – mostly from Tony, some also from Sam. Tony’s favourite is to mimic rubbing his hand over Steve’s cheek and then pretending he got a paper cut. Maria, the school’s vice principal, makes a comment that it makes Steve look more ‘rugged’ – in a lumberjack puppy dog sort of way, which Steve basically thinks means that he pulls it off about as much as, from first glance, one might not think he could.

Maria’s got a very unique, straightforward, and _strange_ way of giving compliments. But it’s still a compliment, so at least Steve has that.

His students ask about it, too. One of them – Peter – asks if it’s an early start to Movember. Steve just tells them the same thing he told his friends: he felt like trying something new. He’s never had a problem poking fun at himself when he knows that no one else means any harm either. So he even turns it into a joke; goes up to the chalkboard and writes down a few clever suggestions for nicknames they can call him once he has a full blown beard. Then he spends five minutes before the lesson starts turning it into an open call so everyone else can put in their own ideas.

In the end, they decide on a Top Three: “Chewie”, “Bushman”, and “Grizzly Adams”. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Steve that Bucky never once puts up his hand to contribute a nickname. He sits there casually – laughing with the rest of them each time another nickname is offered up – and Steve wonders the entire time what he’s thinking. They get divvied up into groups for a class assignment, and every so often – when he knows his group members aren’t looking – he’ll glance over to Steve and give him a tiny, knowing smile. Sometimes he bites his lip. Every time it happens, Steve’s reminded of why he’s _glad_ he’s growing the beard.

That afternoon, once school’s out, Steve gets a text from Bucky, who’s finally suggesting a list of his own. It’s definitely a good thing he never voiced them in class because _his_ list includes things like: **_sexy, mouth-watering,_** and **_can’t wait to feel that between my legs, sir._** That last one hardly constitutes as a nickname, but Steve’s not about to get hung up on semantics.

Because that right there is the best part: everyone else Steve knows could hate it – legitimately goad him over it if they wanted to – but Bucky’s _loving_ it. On that basis alone, it’s worth seeing it through. For the first while, Bucky deliberately holds off on any rimming. Steve will try, don’t get him wrong, but Bucky keeps turning it down. He says he wants to wait until he can get the ‘full effect’.

Having said that, the more facial hair Steve gets, the more Bucky increasingly becomes aroused just at the sight of him – like he didn’t already want Steve bad enough in the first place. He even asks at one point that if Steve chooses to nix the actual _beard_ eventually and not try that again, he can at least consider having a five o’clock shadow more often. He seems to particularly enjoy the sight of that.

Within a few weeks, Steve’s got enough hair to make up the makings of a short beard, and that’s where he decides to call it quits in terms of growing it out any more. The maintenance _that_ requires is a bit more tedious (although, to be fair, he’s just used to never having to worry about maintenance at _all_ – so he might just be acting whiny about this). But Bucky can’t stop touching it, and that reminds Steve how fucking _good_ it feels to have someone scratching their fingers over your jaw when you have facial hair.

It doesn’t really itch him anymore per se, but every time Bucky absentmindedly scrapes his nails idly beneath Steve’s chin while they’re watching TV or lying together, it’s akin to that delicious satisfaction you get from getting in that one good _scratch._ If Steve were a house pet, Bucky would have him purring.

One downside is that Steve finds himself apologizing a lot more whenever they make out, because sometimes Bucky will have to pull away after a while to give his chin reprieve. Others, he purposely draws it out _longer_ so he can make sure his skin is bright red from chafing when they break apart. Every time Steve says sorry, Bucky just gives him a heated look and pulls him right back in. Then, of course, the _moment_ Steve announces after dinner one night that he’s not growing it out any further, Bucky jumps all over that and gives the go-ahead for Steve to go down on him – right there on the kitchen floor.

Bucky’s demand catches Steve off guard, and he’s sort of abruptly pulled into the kiss and then dragged down to the ground… But it’s hardly as if he needed to be coaxed into it.

Bucky’s especially bossy that evening, and Steve loves it as much as he’s admittedly hesitant about it. Bucky literally _refuses_ to let him stop; has Steve’s head trapped between the vice grip of his thighs for almost fifty minutes. He fucks Bucky’s asshole with his tongue while his beard gets nice and snug with the sensitive flesh of Bucky’s cheeks; dragging against it – up and down, back and forth – with whichever way Steve’s tilting his face.

Here and there, he’ll hear Bucky making tiny, uncomfortable whimpering sounds, and it always tips Steve off that the pin-prick friction against his ass is starting to scrape him to the brink of pain, like _sandpaper._ That gets Steve pulling back enough to assess how the skin’s looking, and sure enough, each and every time he gets a look at it, it’s becoming more and more aggravated. Yet the _second_ he’s trying to give Bucky a break – maybe kiss around his cock, or move his way back up his body – the brunet’s hands are flying to the top of his head and physically shoving Steve back down.

“Not yet, don’t stop, _don’t stop_ ,” Bucky always chants, quick and breathless.

Of course, that only ever sparks that dominant driving force within Steve that _likes_ seeing Bucky behave this way for him, so he always returns to giving Bucky exactly what he wants. It eventually culminates in Bucky jerking himself off at the same time, until he’s crumbling with a wrecked sob. He dirties the front of his shirt with his climax, meaning that Steve then needs to scrounge up enough clothes for a load of laundry (since Bucky can’t possibly go home with his shirt in that state). Strangely, for all the time they’ve spent together over the last four months, that’s the first night Steve sees Bucky wearing one of _his_ t-shirts. It makes Steve’s stomach flop in a really disconcerting way.

Bucky’s definitely uncomfortable the following day from the beard burn along his ass and inner thighs. He’ll squirm in his seat, while his mouth tries to keep pressed in an even line to mask the feeling of discomfort. But Steve knows he’s enjoying it. He _did_ demand it, after all. And Steve, the sadistic fuck, feels guilty about being the cause of that, of course… But the _possessive_ part of him also feels proud as fuck. It’s hard not to smirk right there in front of everyone whenever he catches Bucky revealing some subtle hint towards how irritated his poor little ass is.

However, Steve doesn’t realize the full extent of the damage until two days later, when literally every single movement Bucky makes gets him grunting and wincing on the couch as he constantly tries to readjust. Any sound of soreness is only ever followed up by the quickest, most pleased little moan, though - right from under Bucky’s breath; paired with a tiny, spaced-out smile. If Steve apologizes yet again, Bucky just shakes his head (sometimes not even taking his eyes off of the show on TV) and blissfully murmurs, “Mm-mm, shut up.”

Except that when they finally start fooling around, Bucky keeps jolting against him in pain whenever Steve’s fingers even so much as graze over that area. Despite how much Bucky insists that he likes it, Steve still reaches a point where he stops kissing him all together; already leaning over to try and pull down Bucky’s boxers so he can get a proper look at him.

“No, okay, seriously Buck, let me look,” he says in response to Bucky arguing _yet again_ with a huff that he’s perfectly fine. All the same, Bucky rolls his eyes and kicks off his underwear before positioning himself suggestively on his knees and forearms.

Steve hadn’t quite known what to expect, but what he _does_ see isn’t it. The beard burn had actually chafed up Bucky’s ass so badly that some areas appear to have cracked and _bled_. Not a lot, but even the faintest bit is too much as far as he’s concerned. Remorse floods him in an instant, as his eyes widen and he gingerly spreads Bucky’s cheeks a bit to get a closer inspection.

“Sorry, m’sorry,” Steve quickly says when the action causes Bucky to jerk again and whine at the sting. The skin around Bucky’s hole itself seems to have suffered the worst treatment, and a second pang of guilt punches Steve in the chest. “Jesus, baby, why didn’t you let me stop when it was getting to be too much? Aww, Jesus,” he whispers to himself, making a weak clucking sound and brushing the tip of his finger over some of the damage.

Bucky moans at the contact, but Steve’s too preoccupied to pay that any mind. He can’t even imagine how sore Bucky has to have been over the last couple days – especially being in an environment that forces him to _sit_ all day long.

“Stay here, I’m gonna go grab some Polysporin,” he says, making to stand.

Bucky reaches behind him and grabs Steve’s wrist. Stopping him, he says, “No, wait. It’s really not that bad, Steve. Looks a lot worse than it is.”

“Buck--”

“C’mon, don’t ruin this for me,” Bucky interrupts. His voice is husky, with that heavy dousing of neediness. “This is _exactly_ what I wanted. Yeah, it hurts, but it feels so fuckin’ good. Want you to spank me right where it hurts.”

Steve’s immediate reaction is to be concerned, and also a bit uncomfortable. The part of him that never wants to cause Bucky _actual_ pain like this – that’s still getting used to the idea that this might actually be one of those things that Bucky desires and has every right to at least _ask_ for from Steve – is having a difficult time not taking over. He sees the cracked skin and wants to take care of him and make it better, not add _more_ damage to the damage already done.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, Buck,” he replies.

“I need it.”

“What you _need_ is some antibacterial ointment. It’ll at least help soothe the sting and get you healing faster.”

Bucky makes a frustrated sound at the mere suggestion. His eyes narrowing, he glares at Steve from over his shoulder and argues, “What if I don’t want it to heal faster? Why can’t you get that I _like_ it hurting? It’s my body, Steve – I know it better than you do.”

Just like that, Steve suddenly _does_ have the urge to spank Bucky for making such a snide remark. A voice within him automatically snaps, _Oh, you think so?_ Even if that may be true (Bucky obviously knows his body better than anyone), that’s not the sort of thing Steve likes to hear when they take on their roles, and Bucky _knows_ that. He’s using that secret weapon of his where he purposely acts like a brat to push Steve’s buttons – and as always, it’s working. But as much as Steve’s now finding himself getting aroused and worked up, he knows he can’t ignore his _own_ comfort levels.

If he gives Bucky what he wants, Bucky will only beg for more. Chances are, Steve would most likely give it to him. And even though Bucky would probably love it and be glad of it when it was over, Steve knows that being fucked right now is only going to make Bucky more pained; probably even inflamed a bit. Steve would only feel guiltier about it after the fact.

They’ve had their discussion about the nature of their relationship, and part of Steve playing the role he plays is to be able to take control over these types of situations, too, and _not_ just in the ones where Bucky wants Steve to do what he wants. Bucky wants Steve to control him and put his foot down, and Steve feels that applies here as well.

So he wills down that twisted compulsion inside enough to soften his expression. Reaching forward, he brushes Bucky’s bangs and then cups his cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t tell you how you feel and don’t feel; I’m not you and I don’t have that right. This just… It’s going to take some getting used to, and some time. You need to be patient with me. I still get protective over you and wanna keep you safe. It’ll take some building up to it before I’m comfortable enough with myself to hurt you whenever you ask for it and not second-guess what I’m doing. Does that make sense?”

Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek as he listens. He loses the edge to his gaze; it gets replaced with understanding. Sighing quietly, he mumbles, “Move off the couch,” so he can settle into a lying-down position when Steve does. Resting his cheek against his hand, he looks at him silently for a few seconds and then says, “Okay. I shouldn’t pressure you, I just got carried away. It’s just like… I guess… I _really_ want this one.”

Steve considers that and mulls it over. Giving Bucky a small smile, he proposes, “Well… what if we compromise? You let me take care of this _now_ , and if you’re good, _maybe_ I’ll give you that spanking later. Just one though, Buck. And if you want, I’ll finger you – but no eating you out until you’re healed. And no sex, either.”

“What!” Bucky exclaims. He makes a loud whining sound and immediately pouts. The vehemence of Bucky’s reaction almost makes Steve want to laugh. “C’mon, Steve, don’t do this to me,” Bucky continues, sulking. “The rimming – sure, I get. We can wait ‘till the beard burn’s gone if ya really want, but no sex? Why’re you punishin’ me?”

Now Steve’s chuckling. “I thought punishment was exactly what you liked,” he jokes.

“Not if it means you withhold sex from me in that way,” Bucky grumbles. “C’mon Steve, at least count it as a ‘maybe’. We can take it slow and careful and junk.”

“Since when has ‘slow and careful’ _ever_ been enough for you?” Steve teases, quirking a brow with a smile.

Bucky wraps his fingers around Steve’s forearm and tugs him down so Steve’s taking a knee and they’re closer to eye level. Pulling him in, Bucky kisses him; keeping his head held close. “Yes to sex,” Bucky says before pressing their mouths together again.

“But--”

“Mm-mm, no,” Bucky cuts in. “ _Yes_ to sex. I’ll get on my hands and knees on the floor and outright beg you if you make me want it bad enough; you know I will.”

“I could say no,” Steve attempts to argue. They both know that’s not true. That’s a losing battle before Steve even tries to go into it, _every_ time.

Sure enough, Bucky answers, “No you won’t. Eventually I’ll make you cave. You like giving me what I want.” Then he nips Steve’s lower lip like he’s trying to prove his point.

And the proof _is_ in the pudding: Steve’s pupils are just the slightest bit bigger when they pull apart enough to look at each other. Yeah, Bucky’s right, _for fuck’s sake._ Steve lives for giving Bucky what he wants. Bucky would simply have to offer a big enough case – and by that, what he means is that Bucky would just have to show how _desperate_ he is for Steve – and then Steve would become putty in his hands, ready and willing to say fuck it and get Bucky moaning for him again.

“You’re the devil,” he mutters with a mock sigh, relenting. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Bucky gets an adorably large grin at his victory, planting a triumphant, chaste kiss on his lips before flopping his head down onto the arm rest and replying, “Okay, _go_ – go grab the fuckin’ Polysporin before I stop givin’ you a choice in the matter. Can’t expect me to keep being this naked if you _don’t_ want me tryin’ to do something about it. So go, _giddy up_.”

Steve has to fight the impulse to make a grossly cheesy reference to the irony of Bucky saying that to him when his nickname is, well, _Bucky_. Before he shatters every notion Bucky has in his head of how desirable Steve is by Steve calling him something _stupid_ like a ‘bucking bronco’, he prompts nods and rises back up to get the tube of ointment from the bathroom down the hall.

Bucky lies still and goes pliant when Steve returns from washing his hands and starts to apply the Polysporin. Steve can never seem to find the words to properly describe how _happy_ it makes him whenever he takes care of Bucky. Every touch is gentle; whether that’s spreading him open, or applying the ointment on the reddened areas with a featherlike pressure. If something still stings, Bucky will still twitch and make a small sound in his throat. But more often than not, that sound is also some semblance of a moan. He’s got his eyes closed and a lazy smile curling up one corner of his mouth, and the closer Steve gets to his opening, the sooner Bucky’s lips part and he starts to breathe heavier.

Whenever Steve gets to coddle him, _that’s_ when Steve feels to closest to how he remembers Topspace being. Because every instinct in him is targeted on Bucky and making _him_ the priority. Simply _knowing_ that Bucky’s his and Steve’s taking proper care of what’s his fills him with so much pride that it’s both mentally and physically pleasurable.

The house could start burning down around them, and so long as Bucky still needed to be taken care of and _wanted_ Steve’s hands on him, Steve would probably just let the whole place fall to ashes. Everything else in his life becomes material and replaceable the moment he’s tending to his sweet little boy. Bucky’s the only thing Steve _needs_ and can’t live without. It’s safe to say that it’s during these intimate moments between them where Steve feels the most in love with Bucky – completely and utterly mesmerized by his very existence.

He refrains from coating Bucky’s body in kisses until he’s done a thorough job of looking after the beard burn marks and finally finishes. Then it’s as if he can’t stop himself from nuzzling his lips along the smooth expanse of Bucky’s back; susurrating praises and thanking Bucky for letting Steve take care of him like that. Bucky giggles in between sighs of pleasure at the feeling; says Steve’s beard tickles whenever the blond reaches his sides.

Steve just smiles to himself and repositions the way he’s standing over Bucky – hunched down, his hands on the cushion on either side of the boy’s body – so he can run his tongue up his spine, making Bucky shiver. Just as he expected, after barely any time at all, Bucky begging with bated breath for Steve to fuck him. But Steve just continues being a teasing shit and kisses along his shoulders, the back of his legs…

To Bucky’s frustration, all that amounts to in the end is Steve picking up Bucky’s boxers and working his feet through the leg holes. Sliding the underwear _back_ up his legs, he gently orders Bucky to lifts his hips enough for Steve to re-dress him again, before giving his rear a loving kiss and then plopping down on the couch and putting his feet up on the table.

Bucky looks scandalized at first, staring over at Steve with surprise as Steve smiles to himself and picks up the remote to flip through the channels, trying to find something to watch. Of course, the first thing Bucky does is attempt to come onto him and climb into Steve’s lap. Steve reacts by muscling Bucky into such a position that Steve’s got his arms around him and can cuddle him close. Bucky huffs and tries to kiss at Steve’s neck. Steve surprises him by grabbing Bucky’s chin in a delicate grip and pulling him away.

“That’s enough,” Steve commands, but his tone is calm and gentle – and _that_ throws Bucky off; lulls him into that warm, safe bubble where Steve’s dominancy rubs off on him and provokes the submissive within him. Bucky still has some fire left in his eyes, but instead of fighting it any further, he bites his lip and exhales quietly. His lids immediately droop a little, like he’s fallen into a happy daze.

“Yes sir,” he says in a murmur, and then promptly rests the side of his head on Steve’s shoulder so he can look over to the TV and they can watch it together.

Steve isn’t fully sure where exactly his sudden display just came from, but whatever it is was sparked from taking care of Bucky. In this moment, the role feels _much_ more comfortable and second-nature to him. He likes how willingly Bucky resigns himself over to Steve. He likes how visibly obvious it is that Bucky takes pleasure in doing it. He enjoys when he can exude his influence over Bucky in this sort of way: a way that allows them to just _be_ together and enjoy the _wait_. It doesn’t always have to be about sex when they’re together, and things don’t always have to be rushed.

He finds that sitting there and watching TV with Bucky curled up in his lap like a baby – making the position work, even despite his long legs – makes Steve feel just as much purpose as when he dominates Bucky while they’re in bed.

If Bucky were to whisper to him in that beautiful, trance-like way of his, “Please be my Dom…” Right now, Steve would probably say _yes_. That’s how intoxicated and elevated above reality this makes him feel.

Later that evening - when Bucky is finally able to entice Steve upstairs and Steve’s fingers _into_ him - the buildup is so slow and torturous that all it takes is for Steve to make good on his promise to spank him _once…_ right against the most sensitive beard burns; _right_ over his hole… for Bucky to come with a shout, completely untouched.

Steve can’t _help_ but fuck Bucky after that.

* * *

Later that week, on a night where they aren’t getting together, Steve’s in the middle of making himself a bite to eat when his phone rings. He doesn’t even bother looking at the screen when he distractedly picks it up and hits the talk button. Placing the iPhone between his shoulder and his ear, he says, “Hello?” 

“Hello, Steve.”

He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Just like that, he stops dead in his tracks, blinking in surprise a few times while his brows crease. This is one of the last people he’d expected a phone call from – namely because it’s been so long.

Dinner is completely forgotten.

“ _Peggy?_ ”

* * *

Steve tosses and turns until morning, the victim of a poor night’s sleep at best. The following day, he’s completely on edge. He gets through his work hours with that fake smile of his, and thanks to things running a little busier than usual, he doesn’t have to interact with Bucky _too_ much. Definitely not one-on-one. He doesn’t want Bucky to worry that something’s wrong and then spend the afternoon driving himself crazy wondering if he’s the cause. 

Because he isn’t. It’s complicated. Steve’s telling himself that there’s _nothing_ actually wrong anyways – no one did anything, certainly not him. Certainly not Bucky. It’s just… a delicate matter. One that he knows he needs to talk to Bucky about as soon as he possibly can, which as it happens, is when he comes by that evening.

Now, Steve knows that nothing’s wrong, and he didn’t do anything, but he still feels a little sick to his stomach about it regardless. Namely because he doesn’t know how this conversation is going to go, and he needs Bucky not to run away from him because of it. He could never have anticipated the phone call he’d gotten the night before, and pretty much since then, his mind’s been one big jumbled mess.

Not for anything incriminating. He tries to reassure himself that he hasn’t done anything wrong, and no matter how this works out, he _won’t_ be doing anything wrong.

He just fears how Bucky will react to it, what with his age and all. What with how he feels about Steve. What with the nature of their relationship as it is. To be honest, this wasn’t ever a topic Steve thought he’d even have to talk about with Bucky. It’s not like this part of his life is some sort of secret – it’s just something that he never expected would have to touch what he and Bucky have.

Steve could always just _lie_ ; keep the two worlds – his past and his present – away from each other. After all, he and Bucky aren’t a forever thing anyways. If they _were_ , then this would be something Steve _would_ feel morally compelled to tell him, since it’d only be fair. And yet, nottelling him isn’t even a consideration that crosses Steve’s mind. He still feels just as morally obligated to tell Bucky about the call, and why it happened in the first place.

He just… _Fuck,_ he doesn’t know how to approach this at all. He spends the couple hours between coming home and Bucky dropping by to create as many mental scenarios in his head; map out every single possible way he can approach the conversation. In the best ones, Bucky’s understanding about it and takes nothing personally. In the more _realistic_ ones, Bucky freaks out… Gets angry with him… Storms out and _that’s it._

The thought makes him need to chug down his third glass of water in an attempt to wash away that queasy feeling in the pit of his gut again.

His pulse quickens when he finally hears Bucky’s telltale knock. Steve always leaves the door unlocked so Bucky can just come walking on in, and as he hears Bucky taking his shoes off, he places his glass into the sink with shaky hands. Then Bucky’s footsteps are getting closer, coming down the hall, and each _thunk_ makes Steve’s chest tighter. Glancing over his shoulder, he meets Bucky’s gaze the moment the brunet comes striding into the kitchen.

“Hey you,” Bucky says fondly, already grinning as he comes up to him.

Steve turns and leans against the counter top. “Hey Buck,” he replies with a tired smile; welcomes Bucky into his arms and closes his eyes automatically when Bucky wastes no time closing the space between their lips and giving him a hello kiss.

Bucky hums, smiling into it. “Hi,” he repeats. He’s nice and snug against Steve’s front and only forcing himself closer, causing Steve’s back to press harder against the ledge of the counter.

Bucky’s mouth is like an instant shot of morphine every time they kiss – doesn’t matter how wound up Steve is. All he usually needs to do is keep his eyes closed and zero in on the softness of his lips against his own – _especially that bottom one, that bottom one that Steve loves to gently suck between his teeth and nip on_ – and the sweetness that always seems to be on Bucky’s tongue, and Steve can lose himself.

“Fuckin’ missed you today,” Bucky breathes between kisses. “Felt like we didn’t even see each other.”

“Missed you too,” Steve mumbles. He registers that his voice is already more air than words – uncontrollable; a bodily reaction Bucky teases out of him the second they touch, and Steve’s too weak to ever resist it.

“You looked _so_ good, by the way,” Bucky keeps going. “Kitty totally has the hots for you, y’know. She was practically drooling all of class.”

Steve feels Bucky move his hips away enough to create enough space between their bodies so he can get his hands in there and start to work open his belt. The rational part of Steve’s brain is screaming at him, trying to remind him that they need to _talk_ ; they can’t be doing this right now.

The rest of him – the part incapable of thought as he’s turned into Bucky’s slave – is trying to throw all responsibility out the window. _Fuck_ , feeling the nudge of Bucky’s knuckles as they slide the leather from his belt buckle… Hearing his sweet boy’s fingers at work, mixed with the husk in Bucky’s voice ensnaring his senses… Steve’s dick has no other choice but to start growing hot and hard against his inner thigh.

“Does she?” Steve asks, for lack of anything better to say. The question is barely out of him when Bucky takes advantage of his parted lips to exhale a little chuckle and slot their mouths back together, licking straight along Steve’s tongue.

“Mhm,” Bucky coyly hums. “M’sure a lot of them think you’re sexy as fuck. The beard’s probably just what made ‘em realize it.”

_This is not the time._

He isn’t sure why it’s _then_ of all moments that Steve’s reminded of the phone call. But suddenly, Peggy’s face flashes in his mind, and Steve remembers exactly why he and Bucky need to talk. It’s not fucking fair, it’s almost _cruel_ – he doesn’t want to fucking stop. He doesn’t want to potentially fight and then if Bucky does leave him, this’ll have been the last time Bucky ever kissed him.

_You didn’t do anything wrong._

But Bucky’s so young. Steve has no clue how he’ll react, even though Steve _isn’t_ in the wrong.

So he doesn’t entertain Bucky’s joke enough to give it a proper reply. Instead, he brings his hands to Bucky’s face and frames it in a tight grip. Leaning forward and hunching away from the counter, he inhales deeply as _he_ kisses _Bucky_ this time. It’s possessive… Loving… A little desperate, like there’s something to prove.

This sudden shift is apropos of nothing, and yet it wouldn’t be the first time Steve handled Bucky like this. So Bucky doesn’t suspect a thing and instead only goes a little slack against him; softening with a moan and getting just the tiniest bit tugged into that warm, fuzzy space he falls into whenever he’s dominated.

After one last chaste kiss, Steve keeps Bucky’s head held in his hands and touches their foreheads together. His eyes still closed, he takes a shallow breath and asks, “You know how much I care about you, right baby?”

He feels a little nod. “Yes, sir,” Bucky answers obediently. Steve’s heart clenches. Bucky thinks Steve wants to play, when his intentions couldn’t be any further from that if he _tried._

“No ‘sirs’ right now,” Steve gently says, opening his eyes. At this, Bucky slowly opens his own, too. Now there’s a hint of confusion in them, but no hurt. Not yet. They _have_ fooled around without the kinky add-ons before, so it’s not like Steve’s request is completely foreign to them. It’s just not exactly common for them either.

So Steve asks again: “You know how much I care about you?”

Bucky’s brows crease a little in the center. It’s like clockwork, the way Steve’s staring dead-on into those grey eyes and it’s almost like he can physically _watch_ the red flags start going up in them. If _concern_ were a color, it’d be washing over his irises like a slow-motion wave. All the same, Bucky licks his lips and gives another small nod. He sounds much more sobered up when he repeats, “Yeah…”

This time, though, it sounds like a silent question.

There’s no turning back now. He’s planted the seed in Bucky’s head that _something’s_ up. They pretty much _have_ to talk about it now. Right on cue, Steve’s throat feels tight again as his heart rate spikes a second time. _You did nothing wrong_ , he keeps trying to assure himself. Still, sometimes you just can’t help but feel like a kid caught red-handed in situations like these, even when your hands are completely empty.

This last kiss Steve gives him is short, gentle, and probably done more to try and calm _Steve_ than anything. Then he reaches down and pulls Bucky’s hands from his belt. Gathering them in his own, he lifts them between their faces and presses his lips to the knuckles.

“C’mon,” he whispers, trying to keep his tone as harmless and loving as humanly possible. “Let’s go into the living room; sit down.”

For a second, Bucky’s silent. Steve realizes there’s literally no way to tell someone you’re seeing (whether officially or otherwise) that _you need to talk_ , without it automatically having the worst connotation possible attached to it. He feels like his heart’s about to break when Bucky visibly pales, instant fear widening his eyes.

“Why?” he asks – quiet and trying to sound casual, but Steve’s still holding his hands and they’re beginning to tremble, hard as Bucky seems to be trying to hide it.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs quickly, kissing Bucky’s knuckles again. “Look at me. Baby, look at me.” Bucky does, albeit it a _tad_ tentatively, and despite himself, Steve gives him a trace of a half-smile; kisses Bucky’s hands a third time. “You didn’t do anything, I promise. It’s not like that. It’ll be easier once I actually tell you what’s up. Can we please just go sit down?”

Bucky still looks like he’s about to be sick. His mouth’s twisted up now into an uneven line, like he’s tasted something foul. Steve can only imagine what’s running through Bucky’s head right now. When someone tells you they need to talk, but _you_ didn’t do anything wrong, the next logical place to go is, _Okay, then what did_ you _do?_ Not surprisingly, that’s sort of the vibe Steve’s reading off of him right now – like Bucky’s not sure whether he should be bracing himself to get angry with Steve… What Steve could’ve possibly done, even though _you didn’t do anything wrong_ (he repeats, and repeats, and repeats).

Now that the moment’s actually here, he’s starting to doubt whether or not he can believe that.

Bucky’s movements are stiff when they take a seat. Steve absentmindedly does his belt back up while he keeps a worried eye on Bucky – who’s sitting nearly ramrod straight; clutching his knees rigidly and staring _down_ , as opposed to at Steve. The moment Steve’s finished sliding his belt back into its loops, he’s reaching out and scooping the younger boy up.

“C’mere,” he mutters. Bucky seems to hesitate, but then he’s going pliant with a barely-audible sigh and letting Steve pull him until he’s practically in the blond’s lap. Steve hugs him close and rests his chin on Bucky’s shoulder.

He opens his mouth to speak when Bucky beats him to it, asking impatiently, “Okay, _what_ – what is it? You’re freaking me out here. I don’t find this funny; like, at all, Steve.”

“This isn’t a joke to me either, Buck,” Steve replies quietly.

Bucky slides off his lap enough so they’re sitting side by side again, though he doesn’t move so far as to break away from Steve’s arms. This way, he can get a better look at Steve’s face. “What’s going on?” he asks, his whole demeanor guarded.

Steve takes a deep breath. His pulse hammers away in his temples. “I got a call last night from… an old friend.” He’s already taking pause as if he expects Bucky to _say_ something, but he knows that alone doesn’t give Bucky enough to work with. Bucky’s expression hasn’t changed, but something in his eyes _does_ harden, preparing for the worst.

“Okay…” he says slowly.

“Well… ‘Kay… I don’t really know how to say this without just coming out and _saying_ it--”

“Steve, just tell me,” Bucky snaps. He’s breathing quicker now; shaking lightly again with nerves. “ _What_ is going on?”

“It was my ex,” Steve says before Bucky’s finished the question. Immediately, he sees Bucky tense up _more_ , as if that were even possible. And Steve isn’t even done yet… That’s not the worst of it – at least, with regard to the bombshell he knows he’s about to drop on Bucky.

So he has to take another breath before his childhood asthma makes some sort of unwanted appearance and then bites the bullet, adding: “Sort of… my… ex-fiancé, actually.”

Sometimes, when a bomb is dropped, the detonation is silent for a split second _before_ it destroys everything in its path.

Bucky’s expression doesn’t change. In fact, he continues staring at Steve as if he hadn’t even heard him. The only difference is that now he’s stopped blinking. Steve doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting, but he knows he doesn’t like _this_. He can’t gauge how Bucky’s feeling this way.

“Buck…?” he tries to prompt carefully, gently.

Bucky just keeps staring. “Your ex-fiancé…” he finally repeats tonelessly. Slowly – finally – his gaze trails away from Steve’s and he’s turning his head, staring ahead of him. He looks zoned out. But his shaking has stopped, and normally that’d relieve Steve, only right now it scares him. He’d rather Bucky start screaming at him – _even though he did nothing wrong_ – than completely shut down on him. Steve isn’t sure what to do right now.

“You were engaged…” Bucky says.

Steve shifts awkwardly. Brows furrowed with concern, he reaches out to touch him. “Yes,” he says, but it’s like the _moment_ Steve makes contact with him, Bucky snaps out of his stupor and recoils away from him so abruptly that you’d think Steve just burned him. Steve doesn’t think anything’s ever hurt any more. His mouth opens, but Steve isn’t sure what to say. So he closes it and withdraws his hand, wounded.

Bucky’s ducking his head away from him, shuffling so there’s a bit more of distance between them on the couch. His hands are fists, tensely resting in his lap, and once again he’s sitting abnormally straight. “Sorry,” he mutters, still sounding unnervingly robotic. “I just… need a sec. To let that sink in.”

Steve’s staring down at his own hands miserably. Bucky’s never rejected his touch like that before, and he could’ve never anticipated just how badly that would rip him up inside. He doesn’t want to push, but if he tries to speak he might do something stupid (like cry). He’s halfway there; tears are already making his vision blurry. Biting the inside of his cheek, all he can do is blink them away and nod, giving Bucky the space he needs.

It takes about two solid minutes before Bucky talks again. Honestly, they seem to stretch out so long and uncomfortably that it feels more like _twenty_.

“You used to have a fiancé,” is what Bucky winds up saying again. Dully; no inflection to the words – like he’s stating a fact that doesn’t affect him _nearly_ as much as it clearly does. “You were gonna get married once.”

“Yes.”

“You were gonna have a wedding,” Bucky mutters. Steve doesn’t understand what exactly Bucky’s trying to achieve by driving the point home, but he knows better than to comment on it.

So, replying _yes_ again is the only thing that seems appropriate.

Bucky nods. Now his lips are pressed into a tight line. Still, he won’t look back to Steve. But then he lets out what sounds like a small sigh before slouching a bit to rest his weight on his elbows. Steve isn’t sure if that’s considered progress or not.

“How long ago?” is the next question. Bucky’s tone is like the fucking Di Vinci Code; Steve’s an amateur and he can’t decipher it at all. Is experienced enough in _relationships_ to know when someone’s trying to stay calm and _not_ explode…

But not experienced enough in _Bucky_ to know what it means when _he’s_ acting that way.

Steve does the mental math in his head. “Eight years, thereabouts. We were in University. It was a long time ago, Buck…”

Bucky nods again, but he doesn’t look like that information has helped that much. Steve’s about to start considering whether or not _apologizing_ is the next best course of action – even though he isn’t sure he even did anything to warrant apologizing in the first place – when Bucky sighs a second time, louder, and drops his head into his hands. Steve wishes so badly that he knew what he was thinking.

“Okay…” Bucky suddenly sounds a lot quieter and… sadder. Like he’s trying not to cry. _Please just let me touch you, please_ , Steve wants to beg him. It actually pains him to have to watch Bucky hurt in any way and not be able to take care of him. With the way his hands are pressed over his temples, Steve can only see the very side of his face. Now Bucky’s eyes are closed.

Taking his chances, Steve reaches back out and makes a second attempt to ignite some contact between them. When his hand gently rests against the middle of the brunet’s back, Bucky stiffens a bit but doesn’t make any move to stop him. Steve starts to rub a small, continuous circle over his t-shirt.

“Okay,” Bucky repeats. He straightens enough to scrub his face with his hands, before resting his weight on his forearms again. Grey eyes finally look back over to Steve. It’s a reluctant gesture and Steve knows it, but he’ll take it all the same. “I’m ready to hear about it now. Tell me.”

Steve doesn’t know if Bucky’s asking him for the nitty-gritty details of his past relationship, but he knows he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing them – nor would he feel right disrespecting Peggy’s privacy like that. Rather, he tries to stick to the only facts he feels Bucky needs to hear: “Okay… Um… Well, we were friends since we were kids. Became high school sweethearts, then… moved in together once University started, ‘cause we wound up going to the same school. I proposed in our second year, but then we called things off by the following summer.”

“Why?” Bucky asks.

“Why did we call it off?”

“Yeah, _who_ ended it with _who?_ ” Bucky asks, sounding very deliberate in his wording and making no effort to mask that whatsoever. “Was it mutual, or did one of you break up with the other?”

Steve maintains his stare, hard as it is not to look away. After swallowing, he asks, “Does it really matter, Buck?”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “Jesus Christ, _she_ broke up with _you,_ didn’t she?” Shaking his head, he huffs out an indignant, bitter chuckle before jerking away from Steve’s touch _again_ and moving to the very opposite end of the couch.

“Buck…”

“So your ex- _fiancé_ – who you proposed to and wanted to _marry_ – calls you up yesterday out of the blue, and – _what_ , you’re sittin’ me down to tell me that you’re gonna go back to her or something?” Bucky asks, the volume of his voice rising. Every word might as well be acid shooting out of his mouth.

“No,” Steve replies firmly, unable to stop himself from moving closer to Bucky at that. Bucky tries to ward him off, but Steve grabs his hands anyways. He just needs Bucky to _listen_ to him for a second. Bucky’s fists feel so small in his large hands. Staring straight at Bucky – making sure Bucky can see his sincerity plain as day – Steve insists, “That’s not it at all. Look, yes, she left me, but we _both_ knew the relationship wasn’t going where we’d hoped it’d once go. We still loved each other, but we weren’t _in love_ anymore. We hadn’t been for a long time.

“Just… I mean… The thing is, we’d been best friends our entire lives, and we didn’t really know how _not_ to be together anymore. We didn’t end on bad terms – but we _did_ end, Bucky. Neither of us feel that way about each other anymore, and we haven’t for a very long time, I’m promising you that right now.”

Bucky looks like he doesn’t seem to know whether or not to buy it. There’s a fissure in his expression, though… A quick glimpse that looks like he’s at least hearing Steve and _considering_ his words. “You _swear_ you don’t still like her like that?” he asks. He sounds small and frightened again, and Steve can see just how badly he needs to hear this.

“I swear. She’s just a friend, that’s all. You’re the only one I care about like that,” Steve insists.

There’s a brief, fleeting moment where Steve thinks the worst is over and his words have properly comforted Bucky. But then it disappears again, the moment Bucky’s mouth twitches and he’s narrowing his eyes, saying, “‘Kay, but you still haven’t told me why she called you yet.”

_Fuck._

This is the tricky part.

Steve lowers their hands but keeps Bucky’s held in his. His stare follows their descent. “Well, like I said, she and I stayed friends,” he explains. “I mean, we hardly ever talk, and we barely see each other ‘cause she wound up moving back to England a few years after we split, but… Whenever she’s in town, we try to get together so we can catch up. Last time I saw her was, like, three, four years ago. I can’t remember _exactly_ when, but it was back when I first got hired over at Shield, so… a while.”

“So she’s back in town?” Bucky asks, retracting his hands away from Steve’s.

Steve sighs. “Yeah, she got in earlier this week. She asked if I’d be free to have dinner with her on Saturday, but I made plans with you and I don’t want to cancel, so… I told her I was busy, and then she said she was free tomorrow for a few hours, too...”

Bucky’s jaw hardens. “So you said _yes_ already, I’m guessin’.” That bitterness is drenching his tone again. Every time Steve hears it, it’s like a slap in the face.

“No, Buck, I didn’t,” he replies, suddenly feeling very drained from this conversation. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it. I didn’t want to go saying yes if it’d upset you. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“But you _wanna_ see her.”

“I mean… Yeah, I do,” he admits. “It’s been years; it’d be nice to catch up. And I mean, you’d have nothing to worry about, baby – she’s married now. She has a daughter. She’s happy with someone else and I’m--”

“Fuckin’ some piece of jail-bait who you can’t tell no one about,” Bucky finishes with a scowl.

 _A punch to the chest; worse than a slap in the face._ Steve’s eyes lower and he quietly replies, “I was going to say ‘and I’m happy with someone, too.’ You know that’s not how I feel about you.”

“We ain’t even _together_ , Steve,” Bucky reminds him, back to shaking his head with a cold sneer as he looks away. “This shit’s just temporary and we know it. No fuckin’ way I can compete with the love of your life.”

“She’s not the ‘love of my life’--”

“Well, she used to be.”

“Yes, in the _past_ ,” Steve says. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to make that clear enough so Bucky will believe him. “Meaning _not anymore._ She’s just a friend, that’s it.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” Bucky grumbles. He meets Steve’s eyes and there’s silence between them. Then Bucky’s eyes lower to Steve’s pocket and he tips his head, gesturing towards it. “So what’s her name?”

“Peggy,” Steve answers.

“She got Facebook?”

“What?”

“Does. She have. Facebook,” he repeats. “I wanna see what she looks like.”

“Why?” Steve frowns. “Is that _really_ going to do any good right now?”

“I wanna see her.”

“So, what, you plan to Facebook stalk her?”

Bucky twitches. “Damnit, Steve, I want to see her!” he suddenly shouts. “I want to see what she fucking looks like, okay!?”

Inwardly, Steve flinches. But on the outside, his jaw tenses as he narrows his eyes slightly. “Don’t fucking yell at me,” he warns him, tone even but low. He gets it – Bucky’s emotional over this, and Steve understands why. But there’s no need for this. He’s not Bucky’s punching bag, and he never will be. All the same, he mutters, “Fine, hold on,” and pulls his phone out.

After pulling up Peggy’s profile, he deliberately goes to her profile picture, rather than handing the phone over and giving Bucky access to her entire page. He can indulge Bucky’s need to put a face to her, but he won’t violate Peggy’s privacy just so Bucky can make a point – _whatever that point’s going to be._

He holds out the phone so Bucky can see. It looks like Bucky’s about to make to try taking the phone from Steve’s hand, but after shooting him a quick glare, Bucky leans forward and simply looks at the photo staring back at him. It’s a family portrait, taken back at Christmas; has Peggy, her husband, and their daughter. They look happy. They _are_ happy. There’s no way Bucky can look at it and think otherwise.

Bucky huffs out an exhale, his eyes still glued to the screen. “She’s beautiful,” he comments with disappointment. “Fuckin’ _stunning_ , actually.” Shaking his head again, Bucky tears his gaze away and chuckles dryly, rising to his feet. Steve pockets his phone again as his eyes follow him, starting to feel a little panicked.

“Where are you going?” he asks carefully.

“I don’t know!” Bucky snaps… Walks into the middle of the living room; runs his hand through his hair… Looks around but then throws his hands in the air. “Does it matter? I don’t fuckin’ know, Steve! I mean, _look_ at her – she’s fuckin’ beautiful and you’re gonna go have dinner with her!?”

Steve rises, too. He wrings his hands and wants to go to him, but for now he remains where he is. Tone going gentle again, he tries to repeat, “I said I didn’t give her an answer yet. Buck… Baby, she’s just--”

“A _friend_. Yeah, I know, I heard you,” Bucky says. “Doesn’t mean I give a shit, though! I mean – what if… Fuck… What if you see her again and all those old feelings come back for you? What if _she_ looks at _you_ and sees how fucking perfect you are and she realizes, ‘ _Oh, hey, I made a mistake, I shouldn’t’a left him’_!?”

Now Steve starts stepping towards him. “Bucky, that’s not gonna happen – listen to me, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. She’s happy with her husband and I’m happy _for_ her. She’s with someone else, and I don’t want anyone but _you_. Seeing her isn’t going to change that.”

“But it _could!_ ” Bucky argues stubbornly.

“No, it won’t.”

Bucky yanks his arm away when Steve touches him again. This time, Steve’s face just falls as he lifts his hands in surrender before letting them fall by his sides. Staring down at the ground, Steve shakes his head slightly and concedes, quietly muttering “Fine” at Bucky’s absolute refusal to let Steve comfort him.

Bucky doesn’t look certain of what to do for a second. But he’s young, and he’s still immature in so many ways, and he’s overreacting right now and Steve knows he should’ve been prepared for as much. Still, it’s frustrating when the _next_ thing he does is point at Steve and angrily says, “God, y’know, you’re such a fucking hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?” Steve replies, eyebrows practically shooting up to his hairline.

“Yeah, you heard me. I fuck Clint and you’re allowed to get jealous. You’re allowed to tell me not to see anyone else. But then _your_ ex calls you up and it’s like, ‘Well, sorry Buck, you’re just gonna hafta deal with it!’”

Steve can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you serious?” he asks with bewilderment. “Are you _kidding_ me right now?”

“No, I’m not! You’re a goddamn hypocrite!”

“ _First_ of all, you fucked Clint while you were still seeing _me_ , and we talked it out,” Steve reminds him, his voice as hard as steel now. “I didn’t go fucking someone else while I’ve been with you, so don’t even try to pull that shit with me. There’s a huge difference between me seeing a friend I was with almost _ten_ years ago, and someone you fucked just to spite me.”

Bucky’s practically snarling at him now. “Fuck you,” he bites out. Before he can keep going though, Steve continues talking.

“ _Secondly_ , I told you that I didn’t want you seeing anyone else the way you see _me_ – and let’s not forget which one of us _begged_ me to do that. You can’t ask something from me and then throw it back into my face after I give it to you. I _never_ said that you couldn’t still be friends with him, because I’d never order you around like that. You _know_ me; you know that’s not how I am. If anyone’s being a hypocrite right now, Bucky, it’s _you_.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, his mouth dropping open in a condescending half-smile. “Me?” Bucky echoes back. “Oh please, pray tell, Mr. High and Mighty – how am I the hypocrite?”

“Because you _are_ still friends with Clint!” Steve answers. “And that’s fine! You were friends before we became a thing, then you slept with him _while_ we were a thing, but we worked past it and now you two are just friends again. So tell me, Buck – why are _you_ allowed to stay friends and hang out with him and shit, but _I’m_ not allowed to have dinner with a friend that I haven’t seen in years just because you don’t trust me enough to stay faithful to you!?”

“That’s not the same!” Bucky shouts, voice cracking.

“Yes it is!”

“No, it’s not! You _loved_ her; you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her!”

Steve makes a weak, frustrated sound. He feels like a broken record. “Yes, _years_ ago! Not anymore!”

“I _never_ wanted that with Clint! I never wanted to _marry_ him and _have kids_ with him and fuckin’ _live happily ever after_ with him! I’ve only ever wanted that with--”

He stops… Looks away quickly, like he’s just gone and shocked himself. Like he hadn’t even meant to start saying that at all.  

Steve’s stomach drops when it dawns on him what Bucky was just about to say. Or… at least, what it _seems_ like he was about to say. But Steve can’t be sure, can he? It was an aborted sentence; Bucky could’ve ended it some other way. _Probably not likely, though._ They’re both breathing heavier, and Bucky’s still staring off, but just as Steve moves to try and pull him into his arms, Bucky’s striding past him and heading straight for the front door.

“Bucky, wait,” Steve says, following right behind.

“I need to go,” Bucky answers curtly. He still sounds angry, but now also pained _._

“Buck – c’mon, please--”

“I said I need to go.”

“Please, let’s just talk about this--”

“Don’t!” Bucky yells when Steve tries to grab his arm. “Stop fucking touching me!” Steve recoils; can only watch helplessly while Bucky shoves his shoes back on and then goes to grab his coat.

“Please don’t go,” Steve says desperately. “Please.”

“I just need some fresh air.”

“Please stay…”

“Steve, _stop_. Just fucking stop.”

Steve sighs, nodding reluctantly as he closes his eyes. He has to blink a few times when he re-opens them to will away the urge to cry all over again. “Will you come back?”

Bucky pauses, his hand on the doorknob. When he meets Steve’s eyes, they might be glossy with the trace of their own tears. Steve’s breathing hitches at the unexpected sight.

“I don’t know,” Bucky answers. “I – I don’t…”

And then he bites his lip and scowls, shutting down the rest of that sentence as he swings open the door and leaves. It slams closed behind him, and Steve’s face twists up at the sound. He slumps against the wall with a quiet _thump_ , raising a hand and pressing his knuckles to his mouth. Slowly, he slides down until he’s sitting on the floor. He looks to the door and thinks, _Come back_ , but it stays closed. His bottom lip quivers and he thinks, _Please_ , but he’s still alone and Bucky’s still gone.

Imagining the worst case scenarios beforehand should’ve equipped him for this moment. Logically, he hadn’t ruled it out, that Bucky might leave him over this. He just hadn’t thought it would actually happen. He thought Bucky would’ve stayed. And now… Well, now he doesn’t know if they’re done or not, or if Bucky’s coming back, or what the fuck he’s even supposed to do. After all, he’d _tried_ to do the right thing, and look where that got him.

Sighing wetly, he drapes his arms over his knees and lets his head fall forward.

 

\---

 

It’s a little more than an hour later when Steve hears a knock at his front door again. It’s not insistent or brash, but soft and almost hesitant-sounding. 

He leaps to his feet from where he’d been sitting on the couch. The TV’s on but to be honest, he hasn’t been paying a spec of attention to what’s actually playing. Mostly, he’s been thinking, and dwelling, and feeling ill, and missing Bucky. That knock could be from anyone, but something in him is certain that it’s Bucky – and when he opens the door, he isn’t wrong.

They’ve both had the chance to calm down. He can tell from the moment he lays his eyes on Bucky that all the fight’s left him, too. Steve never wanted it to come down to that between them; he hates fighting with Bucky, and given that that’s something they don’t really do to begin with, that altercation was probably the worst it’d ever been for them.

Bucky looks exhausted, both physically and mentally. More surprising than that, his face also looks incredibly _guilty_ now, too. For a few seconds, he remains on the front step and Steve, standing in the doorway. There’s a silent apology in the way they both look at each other. Bucky keeps averting his eyes every time they meet Steve’s for longer than a moment. After watching him make a few discarded attempts to open his mouth and say something, Steve holds out his hand and whispers, “C’mere.”

Bucky walks inside, straight into his arms and burying his face into Steve’s neck. Steve shuts the door with his other hand and then hugs Bucky to him tightly. They say nothing, not right away; just hold each other, while Steve pets the back of his hair and Bucky continuously tightens his arms around Steve’s lower back.

“I’m sorry,” Steve’s the first to say, kissing the top of his head. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you. I could’ve handled the whole thing better.”

Bucky sighs against his skin. “No, _I’m_ sorry,” he replies, pulling back enough that Steve can see his face. “I was a dick. I shouldn’t have… called you a hypocrite, or gotten so pissed, I just…”

“I know,” Steve says gently. He cups Bucky’s cheek and strokes it with his thumb.

Bucky’s eyes close and he nuzzles into his palm just the tiniest bit. There’s still tension between his brows, though; face still looking pained, like it had when he’d left. “I’m so fuckin’ scared all the time that you’re gonna leave me,” he then says. “I knew what this was when I walked into it, but… sometimes it’s hard when I know we have an expiry date. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Steve, I… I _do_ … But…”

Steve looks back at him sadly. Nodding, he says again, “I know,” and pulls Bucky back against him. After a brief, tight hug, Steve guides Bucky’s face to his so he can press their lips together. The kisses are slow and chaste. Bucky holds his wrists while Steve frames Bucky’s face in his hands. Their eyes are still closed when he finally stops and touches their foreheads together.

“I don’t wanna fight with you,” Bucky whispers.

“Me neither.”

“I hate it. That made me feel so fuckin’ _lost_ ,” he admits, opening his eyes. “Doesn’t feel right, us like that… I’m sorry.”

“Buck, it’s okay,” Steve says reassuringly. “I’m sorry, too. C’mon, we can put on a movie or something and have a couple nice hours before you head home.”

Bucky bites his lip, still looking unsure, but he nods. It feels like there’s something else he wants to say. Sure enough, then he says, “I want you to go out for dinner tomorrow” – and that wasn’t what Steve was expecting at all.

Frankly, Steve had already sort of told himself that he was going to do the opposite. He hadn’t actually texted Peggy yet, but he would’ve done it before he’d gone to bed. Confused, he tries to make out the expression on Bucky’s face and replies, “Buck, I don’t have to--”

Bucky sighs. “Steve, just… listen for a sec, okay? You were right; it’s not fair of me to tell you you can’t see Peggy when I’m still friends with Clint. I’m still friends with a _few_ of my exes, actually. I would never let you dictate who I got to be friends with, and… I know you’d never do that anyways. So I shouldn’t be the one doin’ it to _you_.”

“Baby…”

“Look, I told you that I trust you, and I _do_ … I trust you, Steve,” Bucky continues. “Even though we’re not together like that, and this whole thing between us is… god, so fucking _messed up_ … If you tell me that you won’t be with anyone else while you’re with me then I have to believe that. I gotta give you the chance to show me without goin’ and throwing you at the mercy of the court first.”

Steve takes Bucky’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts his face back up to look at him. “Hey,” he tells him, “you don’t _ever_ have to worry about that, okay? As long as you’re around, I’m all yours – no one else’s. Not a damn person on this planet I could want more, alright?”

He knows it’s probably for Steve’s sake – at least, in part – that Bucky nods in agreement, or that he quietly answers, “Alright.” Steve isn’t sure how much Bucky believes him right now. But he knows; he knows he’ll do whatever he needs to do not to damage Bucky’s trust in him. It’s why he searches his eyes and then asks, “Are you sure you’re okay with me going tomorrow? ‘Cause if you’re not, I really don’t have to. It’s fine.”

“I’m sure… You go and have fun, I want you to. Just… you’d better not forget about me while you’re with her.” Bucky gives him a half-hearted smile, like he’s trying to lighten the mood with some humor. Except Steve knows that Bucky’s not joking at all. He’s trying to voice a real, deep-rooted fear – while simultaneously attempting to protect his own heart. Steve wishes Bucky knew just how amazing he is; that he’s not in a contest with anyone else for Steve’s love. He’s already long since won that.

“I’ll be thinking of you the whole time,” Steve promises, leaning back in to kiss him again. Because it’s true – he will be.

* * *

It really _is_ nice to see her again. 

Throughout the day, Steve had been treading carefully when it came to how he handled Bucky. The usual light in those grey eyes he adores so much seemed a lot dimmer, and the one time they exchanged a private smile when Bucky was heading out at the end of the day, it seemed to stretch too thin. It made Steve feel like an asshole, because he knew – _he still knows_ – that Bucky’s brave face was nothing but a lie. He was adamant about insisting that he’s okay with the whole thing, but Steve wasn’t born yesterday.

Yet all the same, when he’d tried texting Bucky later on at home to double – _triple –_ check that he didn’t want Steve to cancel, Bucky always answered back with, **_I told you it’s fine. Just go ok? I hope you have fun._** Or something of the sort.

Steve almost cancelled _anyways_ , but then Bucky mentioned that he made plans with some friends, so there would’ve been no point. In the end, Steve chose to go – and now here he is. Here _they_ are.

It was Steve’s suggestion that they meet at Casa Del Chef’s over in Queens, if only to reignite their old tradition. Steve had always been the kind of guy who thrived off of romantic gestures when in a relationship. Back in high school, after they’d started dating, was when Steve had playfully suggested it: that they try to eat at every single restaurant in New York. That was the only ‘rule’ of their relationship. They were never allowed to eat at the same place twice (unless Peggy _really_ wanted to). Peggy had found Steve’s proposal – as she’d found the rest of him back then – to be charming, if only because Steve seemed to think back then that it was the best idea he ever had.

For them, it’d always been like a little adventure, because with trying a new place comes the territory of not knowing whether you’ll even like it or not. Over the years they were together, there were places they loved, and placed they hated; places where they’d laugh at the other when _one_ of them lucked out with something tasty while the _other_ wasn’t nearly as fortunate.

They’ve only gotten together maybe five times in the last eight years, but when they do, they always meet for dinner, and it’s always at a restaurant neither of them have tried before.

She looks beautiful, but then again, she’s always been beautiful. It’s more than just her outward appearance, though. She’s just an inherently beautiful soul. Steve thought that long before his feelings for her ever grew romantic, and he’ll probably feel the same way until the day he dies. They talk and fill each other in on what’s gone on for them in the last few years. Peggy even comments on his beard; says it's been years since she last saw him with facial hair. When Steve self-consciously scratches at it and asks if she thinks it looks okay, she answers that she thinks he looks great.

During the main course, Peggy – for about the hundredth time since it’d happened – gives him her sincerest apologies for being unable to make his mother’s funeral back in 2010, to which Steve – again – insists that he understands. Her husband had been dealing with a loss of his own in the family around the same time, so she’d been unable to fly back to the States in time for Sarah’s memorial. Having known Steve practically her whole life, Sarah Rogers had been like a second mom to Peggy. Steve knows how tough it was for her to have missed it, but his mom always adored Peggy, even after they broke up. He takes her hand with a reassuring smile and tells her that his ma wouldn’t want her beating herself up over it after all these years.

Peggy’s a tough woman, strong to the core. But if there’s anyone she’s never hid her sensitive side from, it’s Steve. So when she looks away with a small smile and then laughs, subtly trying to wipe away the tears filling her eyes, Steve squeezes her hand and says, “Anyways, enough sad talk. Tell me how Amanda’s doing. She’s, what – four now?”

“Four, yes,” Peggy replies with a small smile.

“She got your personality?”

Her smile turns into a beam as her brown eyes drop down to her plate of salmon. Nodding, she answers, “Yes. Takes after her father when it comes to looks, but she got my brains.”

“Poor Daniel,” Steve jokes. “He’ll never be able to pull a fast one over either of you.”

“Well, he can _try_ ,” she replies, now getting that little smirk that suits her so well. Lifting her glass of wine, she takes a sip before eyeing Steve from over the rim. “And what about you?” she asks. “Are you still seeing Carol?”

“Oh, no, that ended a _while_ ago; not that long after I last saw you, actually,” Steve says. He cuts into his pork tenderloin and adds, “She’s actually married to Stephen now, hey?”

“Strange?” she asks with mild surprise. He’d been another mutual friend of theirs back in school, and the guy certainly had a reputation for living up to his name. They’d all joked back then that he’d sooner marry his science experiments than a living, breathing human being. At the time, Stephen had _agreed._

“I know, right?”

“Hmm… Quite the interesting pairing,” she thinks aloud, looking off with an amused expression. “Good for them, though. Small world that they actually _met_ , mind you.”

“Not really; I actually introduced them,” Steve says.

“You did?”

“Yeah, while we were still dating.”

“Oh, Steve,” Peggy sighs, exhaling a gentle, sympathetic laugh.

“I know,” Steve replies with a self-deprecating smile. “Orchestrator of my own doom. I think it goes without saying that I never expected them to hit it off _quite_ so well,” he adds as a joke. They both laugh together, and Steve says, “But they make a great couple, so… it all worked out the way it was supposed to.”

Peggy’s expression softens as she gives a small nod in agreement. “And what about now, with you?” she asks. “Is there anyone special in Steve Rogers’s life?”

Steve’s gaze trails away as Bucky’s face seeps into his mind. He’s glancing over to Steve; meets his eyes and then bites his lip as he sprouts that shy little smile Steve loves so much. He’s so beautiful. The most beautiful person he’s ever seen. A warm smile turns up one corner of his mouth, and he nods.

“Yeah,” he answers, looking back over to her, “there is.”

Peggy matches his smile. It’s genuine, as it always is. Steve can feel how happy she is _for_ him. “Well, you can’t possibly leave it at that,” she teases. “Tell me about her.”

Just like that, Steve’s smile fizzles out and he finds himself looking away again. Because the thing is, he can’t. He _wants_ to, but it goes beyond simply trying to explain the nature of his and Bucky’s relationship itself. It also means that Steve has to open up to some about the fact that it’s not a “her” at all – and given that he still has no idea what that means about his sexuality, he’s not sure how he’s supposed to try explaining it to _another person_. 

But… Peggy’s his longest friend. Being fair, she knew him just about better than anyone for most of his life, aside from his ma. He knows she won’t judge him, even if the news surprises her. _Fuck_ , he doesn’t know how to even begin…

“Steve?” he hears her asking, sounding worried.

“It’s a guy,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“It’s a _guy_ , Peg,” he repeats, sighing as he forces himself to look back at her face. “I’m dating a guy. Well… sort of. Fuck, it’s complicated,” he mutters under his breath.

She is indeed surprised, though Steve can hardly blame her. But just as he suspected, she doesn’t judge, nor does she give him any reason to feel embarrassed by his confession. Steve’s not embarrassed by that aspect of it anyways – the whole topic is just more confusing than anything else. He tries to work the thoughts out the best he can by explaining it to her in simple terms: that he’d never considered himself attracted to men before, and he’s not even sure _now_ that he even really is.

“Just _this_ guy,” Steve says. “He’s the only guy that attracts me like that.”

 _Bucky._ His name is Bucky, and he wishes he could just tell her that. But they have too many mutual friends; it’s too dangerous. Though he knows Peggy’s not the type to gossip anyways, he doesn’t want to take any risks.

“Well, I think it makes perfect sense,” she says when he’s finally finished talking. “You fell for him because of _who_ he is, not because of what’s between his _legs_. If you think about it, Steve, that’s you all over. You always were the hopeless romantic. Even if you still consider yourself straight, I think your heart was always too big to let yourself become blinded by sex or gender if the connection was truly there.”

_‘Fell for him…’_

“I never said I was in love with him,” Steve points out, brows raising as he shakes his head with a disbelieving smile. Leave it to Peggy to pick up on Steve’s feelings without him having to actually say them.

“Aren’t you, though?” she quips knowingly.

Steve’s resolve breaks and he sighs, his smile expanding. After rubbing at his eyes, he lets out the air in his lungs and then says, “Yeah. But he doesn’t know that.”

“Does he love you?”

Again, Steve stares off; sees Bucky again. Hears him murmur those exact words. He nods. “Yeah,” he repeats.

“So why is it ‘complicated’? Surely it’s not simply because he’s a _man_.”

“No, of course not,” Steve says quickly. “It’s just… personal. No one knows we’re together. We’re not even… _really_ together, technically. I mean, he’s not my boyfriend. But…”

“It’s serious,” Peggy finishes, taking a guess.

Steve lets out another deep breath again, nodding. “Very serious. A lot more serious than we were ever supposed to let it become, actually. But…” _He just needs to say this out loud._ “God, Peg, I don’t even know if I’ve ever felt this way about another person before,” he admits. “I mean… nothing against what _we_ had…”

Peggy laughs. “None taken,” she assures him honestly. Steve knows that she understands what he must mean. After all, _Steve_ hadn’t been her soulmate – Daniel is. However much she and Steve had once cared about each other, it wasn’t the ‘all of eternity, to the end of line’ kind of love – otherwise they’d still be together now.

Is Steve trying to say that he thinks _Bucky’s_ his soulmate…? Is that even how he feels? And if it is, how the fuck could he have ever let this happen…

“I still don’t understand why you feel you two can’t be together,” she says, interrupting his thoughts. “You two obviously care about each other a great deal, from what you’re telling me. What could be so dire a thing that you two couldn’t figure it out together and work past it?”

Steve gives her an apologetic smile. “It’s complicated,” he chooses to say again. “I wish I could tell you, I’m sorry… It’s just… I haven’t quite figured things out for myself yet. I should probably do that first.”

Peggy smiles in return – one showing support – and places her hand back over his. “Whatever it is,” she tells him, “I have no doubt you’ll find a way. Does he make you happy?”

That requires no second-guessing. “Yes,” he answers.

“Then fight for him,” she says. “Don’t let go of something that makes you this happy.”

It’s so bittersweet. It feels so fucking _good_ to be talking about Bucky with someone – _sort of_ – and better yet, hearing _exactly_ what he wants to hear. But at the same time, Peggy only knows so much. If she knew _all_ of the details, she’d probably be singing an entirely different tune. Steve doubts she’d be encouraging him to continue pursuing it. She’d probably advise the opposite, just like everyone else. And the worst part is that Steve wouldn’t even be able to blame her for feeling that way, _same as everyone else._ That’s what makes what he and Bucky have so fucking complicated…

What they have is perfect for them in every single way – except for the fact that the rest of the world will never understand it. Not for a good five or ten years, anyways. For _now_ , they’d be nothing but condemned for loving each other; for being together the way they are at all.

Steve wishes it was that easy, doing what Peggy’s telling him to and fighting for his right to be with Bucky. He wishes it were that simple, that he could just _want it badly enough_ , and he and Bucky would actually be able to be together. But it’s not. They’re not together now and they never will be. He knew that from the beginning, and lately… Lately, the truth is, he might’ve been starting to forget that.

Steve can’t let himself forget that.

“Okay,” he lies, just to satisfy her. “I’ll try my best.”

“Good,” she replies, sounding proud. “You know I only ever want you to be happy, Steve. I’ve always worried about you.”

They smile at each other warmly. It’s not the first time he’s ever heard that from her. “And I’ll never understand why.”

“When I met you, your knuckles were all blooded up from trying to stand up to Johann Schmidt – do you remember that?” she asks.

Steve chuckles to himself. “How could I forget?” he jokes sarcastically. “I had ‘im on the ropes.”

He most certainly hadn’t. He’d actually gotten his ass handed to him that day, as he usually did whenever he tried to stand up to bullies.

“Always the boy with the invisible sword; a white knight with a heart of gold but little armor,” she continues lovingly. “You never let that stop you. No matter how many times you got hit, you’d never run away.”

“Well, you start running and they never let you stop,” Steve points out. He vaguely remembers saying something similar when they were children.

“And I never expected anything less from you,” she says. “You were always braver and stronger than most, Steve – which is why that was never the reason I worried over you.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “Then what was it?”

“Your heart,” she answers; averts her eyes to it as if to silently point, and then re-meets his baby blues. “I told you, your heart has always been about ten sizes too big. When you hurt, you agonize. But you try to appear brave and strong; you always have. So when you hurt, you hide it. And then when you _love_ , well… You fall fast and head-first, and give no less than one-hundred percent of yourself, _always_.”

Steve frowns. “And…?” he asks quietly, having an idea of where she’s going with this but dreading hearing it confirmed.

“And so if you’re telling me that you’ve never felt for anyone else what you feel for this man, then I can only imagine how much you love him. Now, I’m not saying that you two are _destined_ to be together forever – only that when you know, you _know_.”

He thinks hard on that. It’s even harder hearing this from someone else, and not just that nagging voice in the back of his head. “Did _you_ know, when you met Daniel?”

She smiles to herself. “Not at first,” she admits. “But with time, yes. For me, it was the moment I realized that even though I could live a perfectly good life _without_ him, I’d live an even greater one _with_ him. Then I knew, and that was it.”

“It didn’t feel that way with us,” he admits.

“We were children back then, Steve,” she remembers fondly. “I think we wanted to have the classic love story, with the white picket fence and the happy ending that comes with it. I think we tried to convince ourselves that we knew what we wanted long before we ever had a clue.”

Steve chuckles quietly. “We did, didn’t we?” he says. She’s completely right, even though she’s not telling him anything he didn’t already know. Some people live the exact same sort of story and _do_ stay together forever, but for them, it just wasn’t meant to be. In a way, it’s sort of _funny_ at this point, whenever they talk about how things had once been. In retrospect, they’d jumped the gun on so many things; tried to rush when they should’ve just taken their time.

 _Young and in love_ , as they were once; telling themselves they wanted the fairy tale ending and nothing less, because they still hadn’t yet figured out who they were in life. All it took was time for them to eventually realize that they’d been wrong.

 _Young and in love_ ; _obliviously hopeful and blissfully naïve_.

He’s reminded of Bucky again, and this time, Steve doesn’t feel so good.

He gets through the rest of the dinner, as well as the dessert, without talking about Bucky anymore. Because he doesn’t bring it up, Peggy doesn’t push and lets the subject drop. When they finally finish, they part with a hug and a promise to try to keep in better touch until _whenever_ the day comes that they can meet up again. Peggy kisses his cheek and tells him to take care of himself. Steve sends his regards to her husband and daughter, and tells her that next time, she’s picking the restaurant.

After straddling his bike and pulling on his helmet, he sends Bucky a text: **_done dinner now & heading home. had a great time but missed u like crazy. u having a good night?_**

He presses Send and pockets his phone, before starting the engine and taking off to head back home. It’s hardly a long drive from the restaurant to his place. So when he gets home and checks his phone only to see that he’s received nothing back yet, Steve tries to tell himself that nothing’s up. Bucky _had_ been quieter than usual that day in terms of texting, and Steve already knew why. Now, he’s out with friends, so that’d only add to the time it’d take Bucky to reply.

While grabbing a shower, Steve stands under the stream and stares off, mulling over everything Peggy had said… What they’d talked about regarding _soulmates_ and _just knowing_ and _fighting for what makes you happy._ He also thinks about being _young and in love_ , and about how he’d once been so certain that he knew who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with – only for it to turn out otherwise. He thinks about the fact that Bucky’s even _younger_ than the age he’d been at that point.

Steve remembers their argument from the night before, and what it’d almost sounded like Bucky was going to blurt out.

_This is starting to go too far…_

He needs to tell himself that Bucky _wasn’t_ actually going to say what it seemed like he was going to say. Bucky can’t feel that way about Steve, he _can’t_ … Because if he does, then Steve failed him. Steve’s already failed himself, because now he’s confused about what exactly _he_ wishes he could have with Bucky Barnes. He’s the adult, he was supposed to make sure this sort thing never happened.

He desperately doesn’t want what he has with Bucky to ever end, but Steve’s also desperate to believe that they aren’t soulmates either. If your soulmate is someone that you were never meant to be with, Steve will swear from this day forward that that’s proof enough that there is no god. Nothing with a conscience could ever be that cruel. It’s just not possible.

So, since he and Bucky _can’t_ be together for real, that means they aren’t soulmates. _This too shall pass…_

(He doesn’t want it to.)

 _Fuck_ , he’ll never be able to understand how his dumb ass let this fucking happen in the first place.

 

\---

 

By eleven-thirty, Steve’s trying his hardest not to jump the gun and panic. It’s been at least three-odd hours since he’d texted Bucky, and he’s still yet to have heard anything back. He’s trying to remind himself that Bucky’s out having fun, and he’s more than likely okay – and that’s the only thing that matters. It’s that protective instinct within Steve that makes him worry; just needs some sort of confirmation that Bucky _is_ okay, and that’d be good enough.

Of course, the fact that he’s been acting strangely towards Steve all day only makes Steve more paranoid.

But he doesn’t want to come off as smothering, nor does he imagine Bucky would appreciate checking his phone only to see a barrage of messages waiting for him. Normally, he would. Normally, the more Steve texts him, the better. But today, he’s gotten the feeling that Bucky’s still pretty sensitive and battling some self-doubt. Today’s probably not the right time for Steve to be pulling the “possessive” card. So he only texts him once more, around eleven:

**_just wanna make sure ur okay. let me know whenever u get home safely please. miss u baby xoxo_ **

By nearly one in the morning, he _still_ hasn’t heard back from him. Steve’s spent most of the evening lying in bed and watching TV. The very notion itself implies _comfort_ – doing something lazy and relaxing – and yet Steve’s body’s been tense and his mind’s been racing. He can’t help that he keeps jumping to the most likely to the most _ridiculous_ of scenarios; making illogical leaps from _maybe he just forget his phone at home_ to _maybe he got snatched up by some axe-wielding serial killer while walking down the street_ in the blink of an eye.

This is the fucking shitty part about not being able to tell anyone about their relationship. If people knew they were (sort of) together, there’d be people Steve could contact in the event of an emergency; vice versa for Bucky if the situation was reversed. (Not like many people would ever seriously consider trying to snatch up a six-foot-two thirty-year-old who, Steve’s objective enough to know, looks a bit like a body guard in terms of stature.) But still… it makes him think.

If something ever happened to Bucky, Steve would never be informed. He’d have to find out the old-fashioned way, the same way that everyone else who’s _not_ a big part of Bucky Barnes’s life would find out: through word of mouth. He’d walk into work one morning with every intention of seeing him, only to have one of the other teachers mention to him in the lounge, “Hey, terrible about what happened to James Barnes, huh? I had him in _such-and-such_ class once, he was a sweet kid…”

Or maybe he’d be flicking through the channels at home one night – on a night where Bucky would’ve stopped texting him, same as he is now – and he’d pass over the news… See a flash of someone’s face on the screen that sort of looked like Bucky’s and it’d make him jump back to that channel. He’d find out that way and would have no one to fall apart about it with.

If Bucky ever got hurt, or maybe got sick, and landed himself in the hospital, Steve would never be able to visit him. Maybe _once_ – he could get away with once;pass it off as a polite gesture, a concerned teacher checking up to make sure his student’s okay. He wouldn’t be able to see him any more times, though. Too suspicious. Same logic applies, once again, if the roles were reversed.

They’re such a big part of each other’s lives, and yet it rarely actually dawns on Steve… Just how little they can actually experience with each other. It’s nice to live in their own little world ninety-nine percent of the time, but the fact is, they _aren’t_ the only two people in the universe. They’re deluding themselves if either of them has ever entertained the fantasy that they can do nothing but hang out at Steve’s house and ignore the rest of the world, for the rest of their lives… That isolating themselves from who and what is _also_ very real will never come back to haunt them in any way.

Seeing Peggy tonight, being reminded of the tradition he has with her – it was fun, but it was also difficult. Steve’s glad he got to see her, and he doesn’t wish Bucky had taken her _place_ , it’s just… He wishes he could do things like that with Bucky; make those sorts of memories, have those kinds of silly traditions. Not a day seems to go by anymore where Steve doesn’t go someplace or see something and think, _Bucky would like this._

They can’t even do anything simple like go for a fucking walk together. Steve’s place is pretty much the only safe zone. Same walls, same options ( _cook something, or order in?_ ), same limited choice of things to do. Maybe Steve needs to start trying a bit harder. Maybe he hadn’t been trying hard _enough._ Their options _are_ limited – he could always put some of that creativity of his to use and come up with random, fun things they can do while they make the best of their situation.

Just because he can’t take Bucky on a proper date doesn’t mean he can’t buy him flowers once in a while. Or maybe every damn day if he wanted to. If they can’t try the restaurants of New York, Steve could always make a point to cook a brand new recipe every time Bucky’s over, and they can test it out together.

Fuck, what is Steve _doing?_ One second, he’s telling himself that it’s never going to work between them; the next, he’s rationalizing with himself and planning out ways to _make_ it work. His heart’s fighting a pretty vicious war against his head. Ultimately, Steve knows that his head needs to win. But lately, his heart’s been retaliating with a pretty convincing testimony, too.

_Why hasn’t he heard back from Bucky yet?_

Steve’s about to reach for his phone for about the billionth time – just to check, always to feel a little more disappointment – when he suddenly hears his doorbell ring. Steve pushes himself up, staring at his opened bedroom door in confusion. Now he _does_ grab his phone, to double-check the time. It’s a few minutes after one; far too late for anyone to be dropping by out of the blue like this, especially without contacting him first.

The only answer that makes sense is that it’s _Bucky_. He’s not sure why, or what’s going on, but Bucky’s the only suggestion that even halfway makes sense. So he leaps out of bed and jogs downstairs, not even bothering to put anything else on in addition to the sweatpants he’s wearing. He flicks on the light in the front entrance and unlocks the door. When he opens it up, all it takes it one look at Bucky’s face, and _Jesus Christ…_

The kid is shitfaced.

“Steve!” Bucky cheers, throwing his hands into the air excitedly. His eyes are completely bleary and unfocused. Steve can _smell_ the booze off of him.

“Hey Buck,” Steve slowly replies.

“I’s so fuckin’ beautiful outside, you wanna come outside? Le’sgo to the park or somethin’,” Bucky’s already rambling, slurring all over his words and looking back out to the neighborhood around them. “I think there’s one, like, five minutes _tha_ -way…” He points in a sloppy direction and wavers on his feet. Laughing to himself, then he points in the opposite direction and adds, “Or it might’ve be _tha_ -way…”

“Bucky, how much have you had to drink tonight?” Steve asks, keeping his tone gentle. “C’mon, come inside. I can get you a glass of water.”

“I’m _fine_ , Steve, I had like three drinks,” Bucky lies. Steve knows it’s a lie because Bucky’s not even somewhat sober enough to realize that he’s holding up _four_ fingers. Steve beckons him in again, and at least Bucky finally listens. He stumbles into the house, laughing far too loudly at everything he does. He tries to bend over to untie his shoes, but loses his balance and crashes sideways into the wall.

“Whoah, ‘kay, easy Buck. Just. Let me, here, I got it,” Steve tells him, taking a knee and loosening Bucky’s shoelaces for him. Bucky almost kicks him in the head when he lets out another peel of drunken laughter and blindly kicks his shoes off. Steve has to fall back onto his hand, almost losing his balance, to avoid a broken nose.

“Buck,” he starts to say.

Bucky’s already heading for his living room, swerving from left to right as if he’s never even heard of a straight line before. Steve tries to get his attention, but Bucky’s attention span is non-existent, and he keeps talking over Steve – half the things coming out of his mouth not even making sense – as if he’s not hearing him at all.

Steve runs to the kitchen and pours him some water. When he walks back out, Bucky’s got one of the bottles of vodka from Steve’s liquor cabinet in hand, chugging down a whole mouthful _._

“Jesus, Bucky, what the fuck are you doing!” Steve exclaims, putting down the water and running to him. When he tears the bottle from Bucky’s hand, Bucky whines loudly and childishly pouts.

“C’mon, was jus’ drinkin’, Steve, fuckin’ Christ, ya don’ gotta be such a buzzkill,” he argues, stringing together everything into one messy sentence. He regards the serious, concerned expression on Steve’s face and suddenly grins like he’s seen something amusing. “Buzzzzzzzkill,” he repeats, reaching a hand up. “ _Buzz_.”

He sticks out his index finger and nearly pokes Steve’s eye out. Steve leans away, swatting at his hand – tries to repeat his name – but then Bucky pokes him in the cheek, like he’s missing his target. Sure enough, the third try gets Bucky touching the tip of his nose, and Bucky goes, “ _Boop!_ ” and then falls into another fit of laughter.

“Okay, Bucky, we need to get some water in you,” Steve says, trying to guide him to the couch. At the same time, he grabs the cup again and holds it in front of Bucky’s chest for him to take. Bucky doesn’t take it. He’s also trying his hardest at the moment _not_ to let Steve walk him anywhere.

“I don’ wan’ water,” he giggles.

“Bucky, take a sip.”

“I don’ _want_ water,” he repeats, this time biting the word out and losing his smile. His eyes close and his face pinches with discomfort, and now he’s trying harder to twist himself away.

“Bucky,” Steve presses, “I don’t know how much you’ve had to drink, but you need to hydrate yourself a bit. The last thing you need right now is to wind up at the hospital with alcohol poisoning.”

“I said m’fine--”

“Please just let me sit you down first--”

Bucky shoves his hand forward, knocking the glass from Steve’s hand. It falls to the floor and splashes the water over the carpet, but luckily doesn’t break. Simultaneously, Bucky sluggishly shouts, “I don’ fuckin’ _want_ your water!”

Steve’s thrown off by his sudden outburst. But Bucky’s gone, he’s so fucking _gone_ right now, because Steve barely even gets a chance to look at him in surprise when Bucky’s face falls with guilt and he’s taking Steve’s face in his hands.

“M’sorry, _m’sorry Steve_ ,” he’s now apologizing – but in that drunken way where they still seem to find something amusing about it; where they don’t understand how intoxicated they actually are, and they’re speaking far too casually. “I gone n’ went n’… ruined your carpet… We can call the cleaner n’ he’ll come clean it up.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighs. “It’s okay, baby. It’s just water. Please, I _need_ to get you sitting down.”

“Don’t be mad a’ me, Stevie, don’t be mad,” Bucky speaks, ignoring him. He pets Steve’s face without finesse. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, god _damn_ you’re hot. Don’t be mad at me, Stevie, baby, I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it, be good as new. Buy you a bran’ new table.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, c’mon,” Bucky slurs. His eyes are hooded and dazed, and his breath reeks, and his movements are all over the place; _smiling_ at Steve like he hung the fucking moon. He tries to pull Steve down by the back of his head, in a grip bordering on painful. Steve grimaces uncomfortably and resists the pull.

“Bucky, c’mon baby, stop--”

“C’mon, Steve, kiss me, c’mon. Please, been dyin’ for it all night, been missin’ you so bad – why won’ you…? Why won’ you kiss me?” Bucky stops trying to tug him in and leans away, looking Steve’s face up and down. His expression quickly grows offended. “Why won’t you _kiss_ me?” he demands.

“Baby--” Steve tries.

“S’cause you kissed _her_ tonight, ain’t--” He makes a sound halfway between a hiccup and a grunt. “ _Ain’t_ it? Kissed her, _kissed half a town_ , and now I’m na’ good enough for you no more.”

“What?” Steve sighs, not having a clue how he’s supposed to handle this; not knowing if he’s even capable of it. “Bucky, _no_. Of course I didn’t, what are you even talking about?”

Bucky’s grinning again – no rhyme or reason. He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and puts too much of his weight into it. Steve stumbles a little and has to grab Bucky’s hips to steady himself. Bucky brings his face in close and croons, “M’sorry, you’re so pretty, pretty baby. You smell good. You take a shower tonight?”

Every word is like a tuft of whiskey and vodka – grossly combined – splashing into Steve’s face. He physically has to tip his head back as he looks away, trying to run away as best as he can from the odor.

“Let’s go shower,” Bucky keeps going, “you n’ me, right now, you can gemme outta my clothes and I can… do whatever you want.” He’s leaning in now and placing opened-mouth, sloppy kisses to Steve’s neck. There’s too much tongue and Steve’s so uncomfortable.

“Bucky, I need you to stop,” he says, trying to sound firm but mostly just sounding weak. He needs to reign this in and _help_ Bucky, because he’s actually frightened by how inebriated he is. He’s can’t recall ever being this drunk before himself, nor has he ever really dealt with anyone who _was._ He’s starting to freak out a little and wonder if he’s going to be faced with having no choice but to call Bucky’s parents.

“Please fuck me,” Bucky begs. “Please? C’mon, Steve, _c’mon_ , baby, baby doll, c’mon, I’ll make it worth it, be good for you, c’mon…”

Then he’s sliding his hand down Steve’s stomach and dipping his fingers into the waistline of the blond’s sweatpants – at the same time that he clamps his teeth down on Steve’s throat and sucks, _hard._

“ _Bucky!_ ” Steve jolts and reacts on instinct. Grabbing his shoulders, he overpowers him and pushes him back so Bucky’s still being steadied by his hands, but there’s also now a solid arm’s length of distance between them. Letting him go with one hand, Steve frantically touches the spot on his neck with his fingers; feels the spit there. Bucky’s wavering where he stands and narrowing his eyes at him, brows creasing tightly like he doesn’t understand.

“Shit,” Steve hisses, turning completely and striding to the bathroom to assess if there’s any damage done. “Shit!” he repeats, turning his face to the side and baring his neck – and getting a look at the little hickey now left on the skin, right above where it could ever hope to be hidden by a shirt collar. It’s not that big; if Steve runs out this weekend and buys some sort of makeup, he can probably cover it up. Hopefully. _Still,_ though…

Steve sighs, head falling forward. _Not the time, not the time,_ he repeats to himself. He can’t really get upset with Bucky for this, not with how little control Bucky has over his actions right now. Right now, Steve’s more worried about Bucky blacking out and hitting his head off something or getting alcohol poisoning, than scolding him for violating one of Steve’s hard limits and branding him with something that could get him in shit at work.

He shuts off the light and heads back out. Bucky’s standing by the TV unit, distracted by some of the figurines sitting on top of it. When he hears Steve’s footsteps, he glances over to him, looking nervous, and starts to apologize again. Steve nods and cuts him off gently, picking up the glass still strewn on the carpet. “It’s fine, Bucky, don’t worry about it. Come on, c’mere baby, we’re gonna lie you down and get you comfy, okay?”

“You’re mad at me,” Bucky says, looking crestfallen; face twisting up like he’s ready to cry. “You’re mad at me, and you’re gonna leave me. I _know_ you are, you’re gonna leave me. I’m _sorry_ , Steve, I’ll clean the carpet myself,” he insists nervously.

 _What?_ Is that what he thinks this is still all about--? Does Bucky even understand what’s coming out of his mouth at this point?

“Bucky, I’m not mad. Okay? I’m not, everything’s fine,” Steve insists. He’s forced to speak to Bucky like he’s a child ( _and he is a child, Steve, he’s been one this whole time…_ ), soothing and delicate. But at least this way, he can wrap one arm around Bucky’s waist and cup his cheek with his other hand. If he needs to appeal to Bucky’s submissive side in order to get him on the couch and some water into his system, then that’s what it’s going to take.

Just as he expected, Bucky’s eyes close and he pretty much melts at the contact. Tilting his face against Steve’s hand, his own come around Steve’s back and hold him. “You’re not mad?” he breathes out.

“No, baby, I’m not mad.”

Bucky lets out a loud exhale. Eyes still closed, his bottom lip starts quivering. He fights it off, and Steve’s frown deepens while he watches. “But you’re gonna leave me,” he then says.

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that.

_“Not right now.”_

_“One day, but it won’t be because I want to.”_

_“Yes, but not because you did something wrong.”_

None of those answers are what Bucky wants to hear. None of them are the promise that Steve _won’t_ leave him one day.

He’s let this go too far…

“Bucky, come lie down with me,” he softly says, purposely deflecting.

Bucky opens his eyes. Distorted as his gaze is, it’s still on Steve’s face. His eyes are still red-rimmed, like he could break down sobbing at any second, but his lips turn up coldly, stretching into a humorless smile. When he shakes his head, he looks away. “It’s not fair,” he mutters under his breath.

Steve didn’t quite catch that. “What?” he quietly asks.

“I _said_ it’s not fair!” Bucky says. “Y’know… _Y’know_ …” He pulls away from Steve and points at him. Then he teeters, his balance horrendously compromised, and paces the living room aimlessly. He starts mumbling to himself, “She had her chance, she fuckin’ had her chance, not fuckin’ fair, this is fuckin’ bullshit--”

Steve feels helpless. It’s like all he’s good at right now is repeating Bucky’s name, for lack of anything constructive to actually do.

Bucky points at him again, still stumbling around in loose circles. “She _had_ her chance with you! She could’a married you and had a life with you and she decided she didn’t want that no more! Right? _Right?_ ”

“I… Bucky…”

“But at least she _had_ that choice, y’know? At least she had that choice!” Bucky continues. He’s speaking loudly, but not shouting, not really. More like… he’s desperate. Bucky’s never sounded so desperate. And then he keeps going: “Why the fuck was _she_ allowed to have a chance like that and then just _throw it away_ when I’ll never get to? You – y’know – _I’d_ like to be able to go on a date with you,” Bucky exclaims, gesturing to himself and then throwing his hands in the air.

“ _I’d_ like to be able to call you my boyfriend, and actually go out for a fucking change! It’d – I mean – y’know, it’d be _nice_ if I didn’t have to delete every single goddamn text you send me, every time we talk! Why _can’t_ I wish that I could introduce you to my family, or meet yours, or have friends that we could go hang out with?”

He’s speaking faster and faster now. His voice is starting to crack, and his breathing keeps catching. “Why… why _can’t_ I wish that I could hold your hand in public or post some stupid picture of us on my Facebook if I wanted to? I can’t even have a single fucking photo of you in my _phone! I hafta delete all of them!_ ”

Steve’s face is pinched up in pain. This hurts. _Please stop… Please stop talking, please stop…_

Bucky laughs at nothing, with no preamble. He doesn’t do Steve the kindness of ending it there. No, he has more to say: “You know what _I’d_ like? Hmm? You know what _I’d_ like, Steve? I’ll tell ya, Steve, I’ll fuckin’ tell ya… _I_ want you to get down on one knee one day and ask _me_ to marry you. _Me_ – someone who’d say yes and actually mean it! Someone who’d wanna be together with you forever, too, because _that’s_ how I feel, Steve!

“I _want_ to fucking marry you someday and – and share a last name, and have some outdoor fuckin’ wedding somewhere, where we could actually invite _guests_ because we wouldn’t have to hide what we have. I… I want to know what you look like in a suit – I bet you’d look great, I bet you’d look so great,” and now he’s smiling more genuinely, but there are tears in his eyes and he laughs to himself again and _that’s_ more genuine too… And he must really be picturing it, and when his eyes crinkle up from laughing, some of those tears roll down his cheeks and now Steve’s breathing quicker because he’s trying to swallow down the tears threatening to spill from _him_ , too.

“I want you to look at me and tell me you wanna be with me forever, and promise me all sorts of stupid bullshit that people _always_ say to each other at weddings – but it’d be real for us, it _would_ be,” Bucky keeps going, back to staring off; not pacing as much anymore so he’s having starting to wobble a little again. He runs a hand through his hair. “I want a house and a family and a million fuckin’ things with you, and I _want_ forever. I _want forever_ , Steve, and I fucking _hate_ that I’m not allowed to have that! Why was she allowed to have that when I’ll never get that chance!?”

_Too far. This has gone too far. Stop talking, please, Bucky, stop fucking talking, stop making me picture these things, they’re perfect and you’re right, it’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair at all, stop talking, I’m sorry you want these things, please don’t make me want them too… I’ll die if I do…_

He closes the space between them and hugs Bucky to him. He hopes it’s what Bucky needs right now because _he_ sure as hell could benefit from it. Bucky hugs him back and trembles against him, but he doesn’t break down crying like it seemed he would. He just holds Steve so tight that it feels like his ribs could break.

Steve doesn’t really care.

Bucky’s mood does another unexpected one-eighty. As if forgetting everything that literally _just_ happened, he sags against Steve’s chest and loses his steam. “M’sorry,” he mumbles again. “M’sorry, I’m so sorry, Steve, don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not,” Steve promises, taking Bucky’s face back in his hands and placing a small kiss to his forehead. The smile he gives Bucky is forced, but Bucky’s luckily too drunk still to notice. “Come sit on the couch with me,” he says again.

This time, Bucky finally nods.

Steve has to help him get there without falling, since standing still for so long resulted in getting the spins. Feeling dizzy, he takes a seat and immediately closes his eyes. He keeps swallowing every few seconds and breathing through parted lips. Steve watches him worriedly. A minute or so later and Bucky lethargically whispers, “I dunno if I’m gonna puke or fall asleep.”

“Okay baby, just one second,” Steve soothes him, rubbing his knee before running back to the kitchen to fish out a bowl – just in case – as well as re-fill the glass of water.

However, when he comes back into the living room, Bucky’s slumped to the side; feet still touching the floor and completely passed out. For a moment, Steve feels fear. But after checking that he’s still in fact breathing and that his pulse is fine (the only two things he thinks to check right away), he knows that Bucky’s more than likely just out like a light and needs to sleep it off. He does _not_ envy the hangover Bucky’s going to wake up with come morning.

He barely stirs, doing nothing but making a soft sound in his throat while he sleeps, when Steve gently lifts his head high enough to slip a pillow beneath it. He keeps a blanket folded up in one of the cupboards at the bottom of the TV unit. Retrieving it, he first lifts Bucky’s legs so he’s properly stretched across the couch, and then drapes it over his body. His TV’s still on upstairs, but Steve doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to leave Bucky even for the minute it’d take to run up and back down again. If Bucky wakes up at all, he wants to be there.

The farthest he goes is to turn off the light in the front entrance, as well as the one in the kitchen. Finding his way back to the couch in the dark, he takes a seat on the floor and leans back against it. He listens to the steady sound of Bucky’s breathing and stares ahead – seeing nothing except darkness, but knowing his eyes will adjust. Even when they do, all he does is stare off anyways.

He doesn’t fall asleep – right there from where he’s sitting – until nearly sunrise.

All he does until then is think, and think, and think. It’s not like he’s in any short supply of things he very clearly needs to think long and hard about.

Tonight’s given him that in spades.

* * *

He’s awakened around ten a.m. to the sound of one good, distressed groan. Bucky’s eyes are still closed, but he’s not sleeping anymore; seems to have just woken up only seconds before him. One hand is pressed to his forehead. Steve opens his eyes and blinks away the sleep before glancing over. He slept horribly; the awkward way his head had hung now giving him a kink in the side of his neck. But at least he’s not Bucky, he supposes. 

Bucky looks like he’s got a migraine to end all migraines.

First, he continues to groan as he slowly writhes, trying to find a position that’s comfortable and will possibly relieve him of his headache. It’s adorable and _heartbreaking_ to watch him turn his face into the pillow and disappear, only for Steve to hear him whine out a muffled, “Oh my _god_ …” He turns his face back out from it and starts to grieve, “My fuckin’ _head_ \--”

When he realizes that Steve’s staring at him.

Bucky’s brows come together like he doesn’t understand. Despite his pounding head, he pushes himself up onto his forearm as his eyes dart away from Steve and take in his surroundings. He looks like he has no idea why he’s there. Steve swallows.

“Why am… Did I stop by last night?” Bucky asks, voice shot to shit; gravelly and hoarse. He looks back to Steve in confusion, and _he genuinely doesn’t remember a thing from the night before._

Steve keeps everything he’s feeling pushed as far down into the pit of his stomach as possible. “Yeah, around one.”

Bucky looks down and away, taking that in. His skin’s pale and his lips look dry and there’re bags beneath his eyes. He keeps squinting, too – probably because the thin streams of light peeking in from the cracks in the blinds are still too blinding for him at the moment. Honestly, he looks terrible. But even terrible, he’s still the most attractive person Steve’s ever seen.

Right now, with everything that happened, it’s not a comforting thought.

“Did I wake you up?” Bucky asks.

“No, I'd been watching TV.”

“Oh god, I didn’t throw up anywhere, did I? Or, like, on you?”

Steve gets a tired smile. “No, uh… Luckily you didn’t. Do you feel like you need to throw up _now_?”

Bucky closes his eyes again, frowning. Lying back down, he draws his legs up beneath the blanket and curls into a ball, covering his eyes with his hand as he groans again. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Right now my head is just fuckin’ killing me.”

Steve gets to his feet. “There’s a glass of water on the table, try and take a few sips of that. I’ll grab you some Ibuprofen. If you feel nauseous at all, just let me know – I might have some Gravol around here. It’d probably help you sleep a bit more.”

Bucky makes a non-committal noise as Steve heads into the bathroom and grabs two of the Ibuprofen to bring back to him. Bucky opens one eye a sliver as he walks back in and croaks, “Did you sleep on the floor all night?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, taking a seat in front of his waist when Bucky scooches his hips back enough to make some room on the couch.

“Sitting up?”

“Yeah, well. I didn’t wanna leave you. Open up,” he says, taking the glass of water Bucky still hasn’t touched.

Bucky eyes the pills and then lifts his head enough to part his lips. Steve tips his hand so the Ibuprofen falls onto his tongue, and then helps keep Bucky’s head up while he brings the rim of the glass to his lips. Bucky closes his eyes and really _does_ look like he’s hurting as Steve helps feed him the water. For good measure, Steve keeps the glass there until Bucky humors him and takes just a _few_ more sips. Then he places it back down, as Bucky head drops like dead-weight back against the pillow.

“You didn’t have to,” Bucky quietly says, peering up at him.

Steve pets his hair, keeping his caresses gentle. They seem to help take Bucky’s mind off of his headache a _little_ , so he keeps doing it. “I know I didn’t,” he lies. “I wanted to. Told you I’d take care of ya.”

“I didn’t, like… Say or do anything stupid, did I?” Bucky asks after a small pause. “Like, was I a hot mess? I didn’t break anything or try to get into a fist fight with no one, right?”

Steve chuckles, though his smile fails to meet his eyes again. “Well, I don’t know what you got up to _before_ you came over here, but no, no fist fights with me.”

“God, Steve, my fuckin’ head,” Bucky laments, pulling up the blanket and covering his face. “Kill me, please, I feel like death. This fuckin’ blows.”

Because Bucky’s not looking back anymore, Steve averts his eyes away. He doesn’t have to throw on a smile if he has no audience. “Try and get a bit more sleep,” he suggests.

“I wanna die,” Bucky whines again from under the blanket.

“I’ll make you some toast when you wake up later.”

“I’m never drinking again.”

One corner of Steve’s mouth curls up into a rueful smile. “That’s what they all say,” he replies. _People your age. Mostly it’s people your age that say that._ All the same, the noise in Bucky’s head deafens everything else, because he simply groans again and then turns over – his back to Steve, trying to take his advice.

If he’d been a little more awake, maybe he would’ve noticed the way that Steve’s tone isn’t quite on key. Not today.

 

\---

 

Bucky falls back asleep, but Steve doesn’t. He feels more awake than ever; probably couldn’t fall back to sleep anyways if he tried. He tries to keep busy without causing a disturbance. After cleaning the small pile of dishes that’d been stacking up in his sink, he goes upstairs and makes his bed, then into the basement to do his workout. He makes sure to leave a little note on the coffee table, in case Bucky were to get up, letting him know that Steve’s downstairs and to call his cell if he needs him to come back.

Bucky’s still out, and Steve doesn’t get a call. He’s actually glad of it. He tries his hardest to let his mind go blank the way it usually does when he exercises, but today his brain just isn’t having it. Try as he might, he can’t stop replaying everything Bucky had said the previous night. He isn’t sure how to feel about the fact that Bucky doesn’t remember any of it. In a way, he’s relieved; he’s not sure what to say about it, and he’s not completely certain Bucky would like what he’d come up with anyways.

And Steve doesn’t exactly want to have that conversation either. Just because there are things he’d _have_ to then say doesn’t mean he’d _want_ to say them. He takes no pleasure in the idea of crushing Bucky’s dreams. It’s exactly the opposite. More than anything, what’s freaking Steve out so much right now is that he might also be crushing his own. Steve’s been making a point this entire time to actively _not_ imagine that sort of future with Bucky, because he kept telling himself it wasn’t in the cards.

But hearing Bucky talking about it… Hearing about going on dates, and having a real, normal relationship, and getting on one knee and asking Bucky to marry him one day, and having a wedding, having kids, having a _life_ together… It’s the worst thing he could’ve ever done to Steve because now he can’t _stop_ thinking about it. All of that sounds perfect. In fact, thinking of any other future now just seems… incomplete. Insufficient. Not what would make Steve truly happy.

 _Fuck you_ , Steve thinks, unsure whether it’s directed at Bucky or himself. _Fuck you for doing this to me. I was never supposed to want this._

He thinks it might be directed at the both of them. After all, they basically walked into this relationship hand-in-hand; made these choices together.

Almost like a real couple. That’d almost be funny if it wasn’t so fucking heartbreaking.

 

\---

 

Steve decides that if Bucky doesn’t remember any of what was said, he’s not going to bring it up. Bucky might actually be embarrassed if Steve told him about it – and, selfishly, it’s just easier on Steve _not_ to open up that door again. The longer he can hold it off while he tries to figure out what the fuck he’s supposed to do now, the better. 

When Bucky wakes up again a few hours later, his headache has tapered off only by a bit and he’s pretty miserable. In a way, it’s a distraction for Steve; allows him to focus on things that feel _better_ for him to think about. Seeing Bucky like this sparks the dominant side of Steve that then only wants to take care of him. He can’t stand Bucky hurting in any way, regardless of whether it was self-inflicted or not. Taking care of his little boy is something that makes sense. It feels good, and doesn’t require actual thought. It’s just something burned into Steve’s cells and comes as second-nature to him as breathing.

So he shoves all his reservations from earlier aside as best he can. Making sure to cover all grounds, he asks if Bucky needs to head back home at any point today. Bucky says no; says that his parents were already expecting him to be crashing all weekend with his friend Scott. All the same – just to be safe – he gives them a short call anyways so he can check in. As usual, Bucky performs perfectly and his poor parents are none the wiser.

Bucky – who spends most of the day wrapped up like a burrito, moping and watching TV and feeling like ass and hating life – turns out to be needier than ever when he’s under the weather. Steve makes him toast to nibble on and gets him downing several more glasses of water over the course of the afternoon, followed by watered-down Gatorade to replenish his electrolytes.

The rest of the afternoon is wiled away with Bucky’s head either pillowed in Steve’s lap, or him all curled up in the blanket and pressed to his side. Steve can’t help but find it fucking precious how Bucky’s almost as tall as him, and yet he’s such a tiny little ball in that blanket… Looks so small, cuddling up to Steve either this way or that, because he just wants to be looked after by him.

It’s not even like they’re _doing_ much of anything. The TV has to be on low volume for most of the afternoon, and Steve can barely speak above a whisper or else Bucky’s squeezing his eyes closed with a grimace and begging, “ _Shh…_ ”  He barely makes any conversation himself. Turns out, he’s also uncharacteristically quiet when he doesn’t feel good. But he’s still acting like a huge cuddle bug, and it’s tugging at every single one of Steve’s heart strings.

Because he can _feel_ how much Bucky needs him right now. Similarly, when he’s carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair, or keeping him wrapped up in his arms, or has Bucky pressing his face into Steve’s neck just because he feels like it… Bucky keeps making these soft, placated sounds all day, from the very back of his throat; filled with air – like when Steve’s running his tongue over the dips and curves of his skin, or playing him with his fingers like an instrument.

Bucky still feels like shit, but Steve’s ministrations lull him into a relaxed sort of trance. Steve’s feeling the contact high, so to speak. Making Bucky feel that way releases so many goddamn endorphins in his brain and body that Steve swears to Christ he’s an addict. As the hours pass, it becomes harder and harder to remember why he’d felt so conflicted that morning.

Or maybe he’s just looking for excuses not to dwell on it at the moment.

By the early evening, Bucky’s headache is pretty well gone and he’s returned to his usual, chatty self. They have a light dinner of Lipton soup and more watered-down Gatorade (even Steve, because _why not_ ), and then Bucky’s feeling well enough to walk around a bit more and even go sit out in Steve’s garage to have a cigarette. Steve, meanwhile, decides to go run them a hot bath. He’s not overly sure _why_ – he hasn’t taken one since he was a kid, and even Bucky seems surprised when he heads upstairs and finds him sitting on the lip of the tub, checking the temperature with his hand.

“A bath, seriously?” Bucky asks with a quiet smile. He’s already pulling his shirt over his head, though. “Don’t think I’ve had one of those for a good four or five years.”

Steve watches him from where he sits, smiling back, just a hint of a thing. “Felt like maybe a bath would be nice tonight.”

Bucky undoes his pants and shucks out of them. “Do I get a rubber ducky and everything?”

“Sadly, I wasn’t _that_ prepared,” Steve replies with a light chuckle, standing up. “Next time.”

 _He’s not sure anymore if there’ll ever_ be _a next time, but…_

He refuses to think about that right now. Today’s been nice, and good, and it feels so much better than thinking rationally. Why can’t the real world just go away? Why can’t every day be like this, forever? _Why? Why did Bucky have to go saying those things--?_

Steve’s thinking about it again. _Fuck_. He shoves it all back down and maintains the tired smile on his face, watching as Bucky slides off his boxers and then approaches him.

“Arms up,” Bucky softly instructs.

They keep their eyes on each other as Steve lifts his hands above his head, and Bucky drags his shirt up his stomach, his chest, past his head, off his arms. As he’s lowering them again, that’s when Bucky’s eyes flicker up over his neck. Immediately, his smile drops and gets replaced with a startled frown.

“Is that--?” he begins, touching it.

“Before you say anything,” Steve interrupts calmly, “ _you_ gave me that. Not someone else.”

For all the times Bucky had his face buried against that very spot throughout the day, he’s been so out of it in one way or another that it’s only _now_ that he’s actually noticing the hickey. It doesn’t actually look that bad today, luckily. Steve might not even need anything to cover it up with come Monday.

Bucky briefly meets his eyes and only nods once, but that answer is hardly any better because Bucky _knows_ Steve’s rule. And now he’s realizing that even if he can’t recall doing it, he still broke it. Sighing, evidently disappointed in himself, he says, “Jesus, Steve, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I – I don’t even _remember_ doin’ that to you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve tries to reassure him. “It’s not that bad.”

“Fuck. God, I mean… I must’ve been shittered. Did I make a total idiot out of myself?” Bucky asks.

“No. But you _were_ really drunk, Buck. Got me really worried about you.”

“Jesus, m’so sorry,” Bucky sighs again, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “You and I didn’t… I mean, _did_ we--?”

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he answers, “I wouldn’t have let that happen. Not while you were like that.”

“So I _did_ make an idiot out of myself then,” Bucky mutters.

“No, baby, you didn’t.” Steve hugs him. “Don’t worry about the mark, okay?” Bucky hesitates but then returns the embrace. Steve chews the inside of his cheek before forcing himself to ask one of the questions that's been bothering him all day: "Have you ever been that drunk before, Buck?"

"No..."

"Why did you do it? I mean, did you just get carried away, or...?"

He can't see Bucky's expression, but he can feel him tense up by his body language. Chances are, he's grimacing; feeling ashamed of himself. "Tried to drink away my problems?" he mumbles, attempting to lighten the mood. Unfortunately for him, Steve doesn't think it's very funny.

"You could've really hurt yourself, Bucky," he says, instinctually tightening his arms around him as if to protect him from the very thought. "Scared the shit out of me... Please don't do that again. If you're feeling that upset about something, talk to someone. It doesn't have to be me. But don't get to the point where you get black-out drunk again,  _please_. It's not safe for you  _or_ the people around you. If something would've happened to you..."

"I'm sorry, Steve," Bucky whispers, sounding remorseful. "I won't. Promise. I'm really sorry."

“It's okay, baby," Steve says, nodding. Bucky sounds genuine about it, so that makes him feel a bit better. Deciding not to hang that topic over Bucky's head any further, he then murmurs, "C’mon." He steps away and removes his sweatpants; same ones as from the night before. He steps into the bathtub first and then lowers himself down. Once he’s comfortable, Bucky silently maps out how they’re going to make this work and then gets in after him. It’s slightly awkward as he shuffles around a little, trying to figure out a way to settle against Steve and still have his long legs fit. In the end, they decide that lying against Steve’s chest with his knees bent and out of the water is the best option.

They fall into silence for most of the bath. Bucky hums with content at the temperature of the water and lets his eyes fall closed. Steve stares off, absentmindedly running his fingers across Bucky’s chest.

“That feels good,” Bucky whispers softly.

It does. It’s a tight squeeze, but Steve’s never bathed with anyone before and it’s nice, just soaking in there with Bucky and having him so close. It’d be _perfect_ if not for the fact that Steve’s back to straddling that invisible precipice where he just wants to ignore all the bad stuff, but he’s completely unable to.

He doesn’t know anymore what to do, about any of this.

Out of nowhere, around the time when the water starts cooling around them, Bucky says, “It’s so weird…”

“Hmm?” Steve turns his face to look at the side of his head.

Bucky’s staring at the wall and keeps his stare there. He smiles slightly. “It’s weird. You’re one of the most important people in my life, and yet… Sometimes I remember that I hardly know anything about you. Like… I don’t think about it most of the time. But when I _do_ , it’s like, how can you mean so much to me and yet be such a stranger to me in so many ways… y’know?”

Now he shuffles a bit so he _can_ look over at Steve. He’s so dazzling. Fuck.He’s the definition of perfection.

Steve swallows; realizes that he never thought about that before, but Bucky’s right. So he asks, “What do you want to know?”

Bucky never takes his eyes off of Steve’s. There is it – that bitty, shy smile that’s warm as sunshine and twice as bright. That’s _Steve’s_ smile; meant only for him. “Everything,” Bucky answers, and he means it.

He thinks about that. Nodding to himself, he says, “Why don’t we get out of here first? I don’t know about you, but I’m pruned up enough, I think.”

“Okay.”

The plug gets tugged out, starts draining the tub. They get out and dry themselves off before heading into the bedroom so Steve can change into a clean pair of clothes and offer something for Bucky to wear as well. After they both pull on some underwear, Bucky crawls on top of the bed and lies down, beckoning with his finger innocently for Steve to come join him.

Steve’s not sure he should. He’s not sure at this point if being intimate with Bucky is a good idea while he’s so confused – and it’s not that he’s arrogant or anything, it’s just that he _knows_ that’s where it’ll eventually head. That’s where it always heads between them, because they physically don’t know how to resist each other. They always hit a point where they _need_ to start touching.

He’s not sure he should, but he goes anyway. Right-minded thinking was never Steve’s strong suit when it came to Bucky, and as convenient as it’d be for that to start _now_ , it doesn’t. So he lies down beside him; Bucky, rolling over so they can face each other.

“My mom calls me Bucky Bear,” he tells Steve.

Steve wasn’t expecting that, and it makes him smile. “Does she?”

“Yeah, since I was a kid. Still calls me it sometimes. Now you tell me something.”

Steve thinks. He’s not sure what to offer up about himself – he’s never been all that good about talking when _he’s_ the subject – so he replies, “My favorite color’s blue.”

“That’s a really lame one compared to what I gave you,” Bucky teases harmlessly. “But mine’s green. I’m scared of spiders.”

“One of my favorite movies is _Dirty Dancing_ , and maybe all of, like, three people have ever known that.”

Bucky laughs, says there are far worse movies to have as a guilty pleasure; says _his_ is _Dennis the Menace._ From there, they go back and forth listing random facts about themselves. Steve starts off with basic stuff, but then gradually finds himself revealing things about himself that he’s never told anyone before. Things like… How his biggest fear growing up was sleeping, because he was always scared that Sarah would slip away from him when he’d be unable to say goodbye. Things like, how he used to be sick and skinny, and didn’t hit puberty until he was almost sixteen.

He tells Bucky about how his dad died back in the military from an accident concerning malfunctioning equipment, and him and his ma growing up poor. He talks about Sarah and how much she meant to him, and how her funeral was the hardest day of his life. He tells Bucky funny facts and painful ones; good memories, and ones that almost choke Steve up when he bring them back to the surface after having buried them for so long.

And he learns so much about Bucky, too – about him and his sister being adopted, how he’s double-jointed, was professionally trained in dance growing up, has always dreamed of visiting the Grand Canyon… He learns random things that get him chuckling, like the four months where Bucky was so obsessed with _Jersey Boys_ that he listened to “Sherry” on repeat about twenty times a day; dragged his friends from school to see the Broadway show with him. He also learns about the rougher stuff, like when Bucky was put into the hospital from getting jumped and nearly beaten to death way back when he first came out.

The entire time, Steve goes back and forth between feeling closer to this kid than ever and wondering how the fuck they went so long without talking to each other like this… The other half, he knows exactly why – and he wishes they _weren’t_ having this conversation, even though he continues it anyways. The more Steve discovers about Bucky Barnes, the deeper in love he continues to fall. The more fucked he is.

What’s worse is that he can read in Bucky’s eyes that the exact same thing is happening to _him_ right now. Every time Steve opens his mouth and gives Bucky another part of himself, his life’s story, _who he is inside_ , Bucky’s eyes give it all away… Steve sees Bucky picturing that life together he so badly wants; knows Bucky’s surrendering all he has to offer to Steve. Every word, another goddamn nail in the coffin.

He knows he should stop speaking, but still he doesn’t. Steve never _did_ have much of a head for self-preservation.

Steve loses track of the time and doesn’t even realize that they’ve been talking for almost two hours. Eventually, they go quiet again and just _look_. Steve’s trying not to be the one to lean in, because he’s still not sure, he’s _not_ – doesn’t know if fucking Bucky and letting him call Steve ‘sir’ and falling apart with nothing but Bucky’s body to guide him is the right thing to do. He owes it to Bucky to keep his distance, if that’s what he needs while he figures this out. He owes it to Bucky _not_ to go falling _any_ deeper, not when Steve can’t give either of them what they both want.

He makes up his mind. From this point forward, he will not fall any more in love with Bucky Barnes or he be damned.

“So what did your mom used to call _you_?” Bucky then asks. He’s staring at Steve with so much reverence it could make Steve cry. “She must’a had a nickname for you.”

Steve looks away, smiling to himself as he hears her voice. He’ll never be able to forget the musical way it always sounded. “Yeah. She used to call me her angel.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says, light and airy and already charmed right into the story he knows must back it up.

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs. “Right to the day she died… Didn’t matter how small or big I was. When she was really sick – like, feverish and half out of it sort of sick – she’d always tell me that looking at my face made her believe in god all over again. She’s the one who taught me to draw, and how to look at art and really appreciate everything that was and wasn’t being spoken. She used to draw me a lot, when I was little, when _I’d_ get sick… Every time I landed myself in the hospital, there’d be a new picture of me, no fail, _every_ day. She always made them out to ‘My Angel’.” His voice quiets when he adds, “Her drawings were always my favorite.”

“Do you have any of them left?” Bucky asks. His eyes are a little wider now, and he looks a little emotional from the story; from seeing the pain in Steve’s eyes, feeling it from his heart.

“Yeah,” Steve admits, “locked up in a box I keep in the basement. Not tonight, though,” he says, since he can only guess what Bucky was insinuating. “Haven’t looked at ‘em in years. Not tonight.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Bucky says, nodding and reaching between them to hold Steve’s hand. “Thank you for telling me all that. It means a lot to me.”

Steve smiles to himself, still peering away. This time, when he keeps speaking, it’s because he just can’t help it: “She had such a beautiful voice, too. Prettiest voice in all of Brooklyn. I think she always dreamed of being a singer, but there was no room to follow dreams when you were a single mother raising a perpetually sick son and dealing with your own shit yourself.”

“You don’t blame yourself for that, do you?” Bucky asks. “That she didn’t pursue that?”

Steve’s shrug is small, but it still tries too hard to come off as casual. “I dunno,” he admits. “Doesn’t matter anymore. Either way, I just really loved her voice. I should’ve recorded her, I don’t know why I never did…”

“Can you still hear her?” Bucky whispers. Steve can feel his eyes never leaving him, and he’s sure Bucky’s barely blinking. “When you stop and listen, can you hear her voice? Singing to you?”

Steve’s heart clenches. Closing his eyes, expression pinching up, he nods.

“What’s she singing?”

He tries hard, tries to listen for it; see which one it is this time. He’s never shared this sort of thing with another person. It’s a vulnerable feeling, just as much as it’d been when he let Bucky fuck him – but so much more intimate to Steve than even that. Then he starts to hear it. “It’s, uh… ‘Lulla--”

“Sing it for me,” Bucky interrupts. His voice is so soft; sounds like he’s only a couple inches away.

Steve’s brows furrow, eyes still closed. “I can’t sing.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have a good voice,” he admits.

“Please? Sing with her, I wanna hear what she sounds like. Let me hear her through you.”

Steve shakes his head, as if to himself. He feels Bucky’s fingers touch his cheek. “She was the singer in the family--”

“It’s not about that,” Bucky murmurs. “Please, Stevie?”

Steve can’t open his eyes for this. He sighs a little to himself, but then goes back to trying to listen harder for his ma’s voice again. Every note makes his throat tight, but he starts to hum along in spite of himself. He’s a better singer than he gives himself credit for; can stay in key and carry a tune enough to get by. He’s just nothing to write home about, never was. That was Sarah. That was his ma, to the very end.

“ _Goodnight, my angel, time to close your eyes_ ,” he starts to sing, just under his breath, “ _and save these questions for another day. I think I know what you've been asking me, I think you know what I've been trying to say. I promised I would never leave you, and you should always know… Wherever you may go, no matter where you are, I never will be far away…”_

He remembers her singing this when he was about ten years old, on a day when he was sicker than usual, down with a bad case of pneumonia. From the first note, Steve fell in love with the song. And whenever he got really bad again over the years, that was the one Sarah would sing for him to heal him all up. He has to clear his throat a few times before continuing:

“ _Goodnight, my angel, now it's time to sleep. And still so many things I want to say_ ,” he sings. The more he hears the lyrics, the more emotional he feels – because he starts to see not only his mother’s face in his mind, but Bucky’s smiling one as well. And he realizes far too late that these lyrics perfectly describe his feelings for Bucky, too.

“ _Remember all the songs you sang for me when we went sailing on an emerald bay. And like a boat out on the ocean, I'm rocking you to sleep. The water's dark, and deep inside this ancient heart, you'll always be a part of me_ …”

If not for the hand still touching his cheek, it’d be hard to know for sure that Bucky’s still there. Steve can’t see his face because he refuses to open his eyes, but he can’t even hear Bucky breathing anymore. There’s something between them though, in this moment, and… It’s too overwhelming. Steve’s _glad_ he doesn’t know what Bucky’s face looks like right now. He knows he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“ _Goodnight, my angel, now it's time to dream_ ,” he keeps going. He thinks his voice might be getting pitchy on him but he pushes through it. If he keeps singing, he can hang on to those two smiling faces and never have to go back to dealing with the truth… Having to know that _one’s_ already gone and he’ll eventually have to lose the _other_ , too. If he never stops singing, he’ll never have to say goodbye. “ _And dream how wonderful your life will be… Someday, your child may cry, and if you sing this lullabye, then in your heart there will always be a part of me_.

“ _Someday we'll all be gone, but lullabyes go on and on... They never die. That's how you and I will be…_ ”

The last note dies out, and Steve realizes he’s shaking. When he releases the air in his lungs, it trembles just as hard. He finally opens his eyes, just for a split second… Bucky’s staring back at him still just as silently. His lips are parted and the bottom one is quivering, and he has tears stains dripping over the bridge of his nose. He looks awed, and grief-stricken, like he _feels_ Steve’s mourning over Sarah and just lived that with him.

He looks amazed, and heartbroken, and _so fucking in love_ \--

Bucky leans in and kisses him.

Steve’s eyes squeeze shut again. He inhales sharply through his nose; lifts a hand to hold onto the back of Bucky’s head and keep him there. He _shouldn’t_ be keeping him there, he _can’t_ keep him there – one day, Steve will have to let him go, and let him have a _real_ shot at happiness, at a future with someone else… A future he never wanted to imagine them having together but now he’s starting to, and he’s still trying to fight it because _it’s so perfect, it’s so perfect and it kills him_ \--

Bucky grips the side of his face hard, like he’s able to read Steve’s mind; like he never _plans_ to let go, and that’s what has Steve terrified. He was never supposed to let it get this bad between them; lose control of the situation like this. Did he ever have control over it? Did Bucky, really…? The kisses are long, deep, silently frantic. Within seconds, they’re exhaling loudly every time their lips part, before one turns his face to the other side and claims the other again. It’s bruising; makes Steve’s lips tingle and sometimes it hurts.

 _Does_ hurt…

Hurts all over. Steve fucking hurts all over.

Bucky tastes like… like Gatorade and cigarettes and that little something sweet that’s always lingering in the background. That tiny taste, Steve thinks it might be his kryptonite. Their lips begin to part wider, the desperation seeping back and forth between their bodies; felt in the vehement way they beat their tongues together. Bucky tugs on his head slightly – a plea – and Steve follows.

Moves, and guides Bucky to roll onto his back, and hovers over him, and never stops kissing. He’d stopped singing – he’d _stopped_ , he didn’t want to stop – and he’s not ready to say goodbye yet. Maybe he won’t have to. Maybe… maybe if he never stops _kissing_ Bucky, _then_ he’ll never have to end this. They’ll somehow be able to find a way.

Bucky rocks beneath him and grazes his cock against Steve’s hip. There’s the faintest trace of a moan, all breathy and beautiful; quiet like a secret. Steve can’t fall any more in love with him or he be damned. He can’t. He _won’t._

Something that sounds like a sigh pushes out of his own lungs. It’s because Bucky’s hands are mapping out the skin of his back, running them everywhere… Sculpting Steve’s bones and muscles with his palms… Tracing them as he drags his finger nails across them, like he helped put Steve together. It feels like that, when they’re together. It’s never felt like this with anyone else, _why has it never felt like this, it’s not fucking fair…_

His hand’s buried beneath the fabric of his boxers now – the ones framing perfectly around Bucky’s slim waist. Bucky fits in his clothes so well, just like he fits every aspect of Steve. Fits his smile, fits his skin, fits his fucking heart. The grip he has around Bucky’s cock is _delicate_ , and the way he strokes him is languid and _delicate_ , and they never stop kissing, not for a second. Slow and deep, inhaling every breath the other lets out, and giving it right back. _Breathe in, breathe out…_

In. Out. Up. Down. Bucky’s are sugared with these stuttered little sounds – _uh, uh, uh…_ They prelude every breath of air he pushes into Steve’s lungs; make his breath catch and stutter, just a tiny bit each time. Too quiet to even pass as a whisper. They’re for Steve to hear and no one else – stars and dreams and glimpses of an impossible future that, for now, he can simply reach out and touch. He can close his fingers around them and pluck them from the sky; wouldn’t be too far that they couldn’t still be his.

Bucky’s dripping in his hand. _Uh, uh, uh._ They’ve never taken things at this pace, in this way before. Now would normally be the point where they’d rip each other’s clothes off because they wouldn’t be able to wait. It’d be frantic because the frenzy would seduce them, taunt them; only give them release once Steve could start fucking into him, nice and hard. Just like they both always wanted. But that frantic feeling is stemming from a different place right now.

Steve doesn’t understand it. He just knows he doesn’t want to let go. He just knows that it hurts.

_Breathe in, breathe out – uh… uh… uh…_

There’s the curl of fingers into the waistline hugging his hips; knuckles pressing to flesh. Scalding hot, Steve feels like he’s dying. Bucky slips his hand down to his ass and clutches it. Keeps lowering his hand to force Steve’s underwear to slip down a bit more. Movements belying the desperate intensity sparking and crackling between them, Steve’s actions are anything but rushed as he lets go of Bucky to take over and shed the clothing off, never taking his lips away from Bucky’s for very long. Bucky’s are the next to go. Instead of taking him back in hand, Steve smothers Bucky’s body beneath his so he can feel skin on skin, _everywhere_.

Bucky’s dick presses up against his. So good, it’s so good. Steve’s lower back rolls; culminates in his hips grinding down on him, rubbing his cock up Bucky’s. There’s a gasp, a pitchy one, but still contained. Soft. Still a secret, still something no one can take from them. He can feel all the precome from Bucky’s leaking slit – that Steve’s hand had spread all along him the longer he slowly fucked his fist over him – dampening his own skin.

Legs lift and wrap around him. Ankles cross and Bucky’s heel digs into a spot right next to Steve’s tailbone. Bucky sucks on his bottom lip and Steve thrusts, over and over. Up, down, up, down. _Breathe in, breathe out._ Stays slow. Gets their bellies wet with precome. Steve wonders what Bucky would look like if they were to stare at each other from opposite ends of an aisle one day. He imagines Bucky would be giving him _his_ smile. Honey-sweet, big and dazzling. _All for him. Only for him._ Always. No need to lie, or hide, or…

No.

He can’t.

Can’t think of it, not right now ( _please… why did you do this to me…_ ). Hurts too much. He tells himself he doesn’t want that, he tells himself it’s delusion. _Stop wanting what you can’t have_. No, he doesn’t want that, he doesn’t, _he doesn’t_ , he…

…is lying.

He does.

He’s _been_ lying. To himself, mostly.

_He be damned._

Bucky’s reaching out with his hand and blindly getting the bedside drawer open. Steve’s got one hand clenched in a loose fist on the pillow next to Bucky’s head. He feels that hand – the plastic against his palm – as he slides it up and nudges his hand to slip beneath Steve’s. Steve’s fist uncurls at the same moment that he can slot his fingers where they fit perfectly in the spaces between Bucky’s. They kiss, his hips undulate – _uh… uh… mm… uh…_ \- and for a second, they hold hands, the bottle of slick between them.

He takes it from him and uses his thumb to press down on the side of the lid that pops open the other side. Now they _do_ finally stop kissing, and at first, it’s like they can’t look away from each other. Bucky’s eyes are still on him – he can feel it – when he turns his head and pushes up enough to transfer the bottle to the other hand so he can squeeze some out; wet his fingers.

Bucky lifts his head from the pillow and mouths at Steve’s neck. Leaves no marks ( _Steve doesn’t care anymore in this moment_ ; _the hickeys would just fade anyways, like every last shred of what they have_ ); just brushes his lips to it again and again, sometimes drags his tongue along the arch, into the hollow of Steve’s throat. Their noises are still low, still mostly composed of air and the little they keep trying and failing to fill their lungs with. No breath is deep enough. The air never makes it to Steve’s brain, but that’s okay. It’s shut down anyways.

Steve readjusts so he’s halfway off Bucky but still weighing down on him and keeping Bucky safe. They’re yin and yang, sun and moon; moving together, always in a perfect tandem. Bucky doesn’t need to see Steve lowering his hand to _feel_ his intentions. His legs tip apart of their own accord at the same time that Steve makes to reach down.

He drags his middle finger up the crease of Bucky’s ass, and Bucky sighs against the spot where Steve’s neck meets his jaw. Baby blues flutter closed and Steve’s lips part when Bucky sucks just light enough to make his own cock twitch. He can feel his heartbeat there, _thump-thump-thump_ , and his blood is scorching and sizzling and Steve can feel it crawling through his veins. He can feel it all over.

Turning his face in, he nudges Bucky’s face up lightly with his nose. Bucky tilts it up and Steve catches the corner of his mouth. Gets it right on the second try. Bucky collapses his head back into the pillow and Steve pulls away enough so he can open his eyes a sliver, and Bucky can open his… So their parted lips can just _barely_ still be brushing together… So Steve can _look_ while he pushes his finger into Bucky’s body.

Usually, Bucky moans. Usually, Bucky cries out. All he does this time is scrunch up his nose and furrow his brows, but otherwise he’s silent. Mostly. When his mouth falls a little more slack against Steve’s, in the very back of Bucky’s throat, Steve can hear him stutter over the smallest, quietest gasp. Bucky keeps his eyes open. Steve watches his pupils swell.

_‘How about mine…? How big are my pupils…?’_

_Why did you have to do this to me--_

Steve kisses him again; fingers him nice and slow, like they have all the time in the world. Steve wonders if this is what it feels like to be eaten alive. His erection presses against Bucky’s thigh and he grinds against it for friction, matching the rhythm he sets within Bucky’s muscles. Bucky clings to him with one hand and meets every kiss. Gives back just as fiercely, just as passionately. Just like he always has. It’s good, it’s so good. Bucky’s so good. Steve hates him a little, if only because he feels so... so…

He was never allowed to love him. Then he went and did that. He was never supposed to love him this much. But he went and did that, too.

Bucky should’ve taken pity on him and left him alone. _Why did you do have to do this to me--_

Steve wanted it, still wants it. Still wants him, wants him too much. He can’t imagine a world now where Bucky _hadn’t_ come to him. It’s impossible to think about. Steve wishes this had never happened, but he’d kill anyone who would dare try to go back and take it from him.

Theirs was always a beautiful tragedy, right from the start. Already ended before it could ever really begin.

He’s at three fingers. With the heel of his hand pressing against Bucky’s perineum, he curls and uncurls his fingers within him and Bucky’s moaning gingerly while he sucks on Steve’s tongue between kisses. “Steve,” he breathes. Every cell in Steve’s body thrums at the way he sounds. He knows what Bucky wants. He doesn’t need to be told. Hearing his name like that says it all.

But when he slips his fingers out of him and grabs a condom from the drawer, he’s only _just_ withdrawing his hand when Bucky peers down and stops him. Saying nothing, his fingertips skim the top of Steve’s fingers before brushing over the edge of the wrapper. Bucky pinches it and carefully pulls it from Steve’s hand. They’re both glancing over, but then Steve looks to him and Bucky looks back. From the corner of his eye, he sees Bucky reach back out and drop the condom _back_ into the drawer.

They’ve never done it without one. Steve’s never done it without one before _at all._ Never felt right; always gave him reservations. From what he knows about Bucky, this is a first for him, too. Bucky’s still silent, but Steve hears what he’s trying to say. So when Bucky scans his eyes for any signs of refusal, he finds none, because _they probably shouldn’t be doing this, they shouldn’t be doing this at all_ , but Steve wants it anyway. Can’t give up Bucky, not yet. Doesn’t know how. Isn’t sure he wants to know.

There’s a pull, and he goes without resistance; has his lips tracing Bucky’s opened ones again, and a soft tongue in his mouth, and fingers in his hair. He doesn’t want to break the kiss – not even to use both hands to gather more lubricant – so when he slides his hand along the mattress until he finds the bottle again, he only places enough distance between them to get it opened and between Bucky’s legs. Angling it against his ass, he unceremoniously drizzles some right against Bucky’s hole and then tosses it away. Fingers spread it around; scoop up as much as he can to quickly coat some over his dick as well.

He crawls between Bucky’s legs and settles back down, taking himself in hand and feeling for that hot little _dip_ in the body beneath him. He glances down just as he nudges his hips a little, and feels that familiar, lax ring of muscles against him. Bucky feels so much softer right now. So much more heat radiating from his core and begging the tip of Steve’s dick – begging _him_ – to become engulfed in the flames.

Steve can’t resist and starts easing into him. Bucky makes a choked off noise that’s halfway between a gasp and a mewl. He’s so tight, so accepting inside. Steve licks his lips before biting the bottom one, brows knitting together at that instant, mind-numbing ecstasy that washes over him. Slipping deeper into him still, Steve rests his forearms on either side of Bucky’s head and looks down at him.

Bucky’s eyes are closed, and though his face is screwed up again in pleasure, the rest of him is relaxed. He breathes steadily and looks like he’s focused on feeling it all out – every inch of Steve, every little way he’s stretching bigger and bigger around him. When he’s fully seated inside, Steve rolls his hips a bit, never pulling back more than an inch or so. That gets Bucky gazing back up at him and meeting his stare.

Everything is indolent and unhurried. Steve’s thrusts gradually become deeper, but not _faster_. Every single part of him wants it to be; wants to fuck into him harder and harder until he gets Bucky screaming his name. That’s what their bodies have been programmed to do with each other, that’s instinct. But he feels like his body’s moving and he’s just along for the ride. It knows better, and keeps it slow. Because whatever this moment _is_ between them, more than anything, it’s _love._

Steve’s never made love to Bucky before – not like this. Not with _anyone_ like this in his whole life. That’s what this is, and it’s so overwhelming that Steve doesn’t even have the chance to realize the full weight of what that means. He knows, too… The way Bucky’s looking at him like he’s confused and unprepared, but so completely devout. Speechless. Steve is, too. He gets it. Bucky’s never had this with anyone else either.

It’s not as simple as calling it ‘making love’. What Steve feels right now has no name or definition. It’s scary and dangerous and wondrous and magnificent. It’s what light feels like when it heats up your skin, or the way your stomach drops that split-second before you plummet off the edge. It’s enough for Steve to remember why he believes in soulmates – even soulmates who are only meant to leave you.

The bed creaks quietly, the air around them filled with heavy panting. Sometimes, Bucky will moan. Other times, it’s Steve’s breath catching. They keep their eyes open, and Bucky wraps his hand around himself, starts tugging. Steve wedges his left hand between Bucky’s lower back and the bed so he can tilt those hips beneath him up a bit. He’s not able to hit Bucky’s prostate at first, but the first time he _does_ is the first time in what feels like forever that Bucky involuntarily rolls his eyes back into his head.

That head turns, and Steve keeps trying to tend to that one precious spot, and Bucky’s wringing his cock with a bit more purpose. Steve licks up the side of his neck and then kisses back down, making Bucky moan again. But Steve wants to _see_ him – all of him – and so he turns Bucky’s face back towards him to redirect his focus.

He’s so close he can taste it. Every thrust inches him towards it just a little bit more. Able to read every single one of Bucky’s signs by now, he knows Bucky’s almost there, too. That’s what he cares about most. He just needs to make Bucky feel good, so good, it’s so good…

The minute or so that follows feels like a lifetime. But still, all too soon, Bucky comes first. He clenches unexpectedly around Steve’s dick and twitches one, _twice,_ and then his jaw drops. There’s a breathy, low sound – _auh_ – and it’s shaky; louder than anything else’s he’s produced tonight, but still reticent compared to what Steve’s used to. Watching Bucky struggle not to close his eyes but _refusing_ to so he can give Steve every last part of him and his pleasure – so Steve can see it, watch him, know that Bucky wants him to – is what throws Steve over the edge. Feeling all that mixed with the sudden sensation of Bucky’s release streaking across his abs at the same time is what gets _him_ coming.

There’s no barrier between where Steve’s body ends and where Bucky’s begins this time. He makes one brief, short sound in his chest – like he’s been punched – and he’s coming. It’s so good, _so good_ , but the knowledge that it’s all being pumped into Bucky’s body for the first time makes it beyond compare. That makes not only his own orgasm all the more powerful, but it seems to elevate Bucky’s as well. His hole is fluttering all around Steve, and he’s so wet and hot and snug against his cock; fits him like a glove. Made just for Steve, as Steve was made for him.

He still feels like he can’t breathe as the euphoria begins to subside. Honestly, he’s unsure if he’ll ever be able to breathe again after this. They both still look dazed and a little thrown off by what just happened. Steve smoothes Bucky’s bangs from his sweaty forehead and then kisses him. When he pulls away and looks again, Bucky’s expression is even _more_ perturbed. It seems like it’s dawning on him – what they just did… The fact that it came from nowhere. Neither had planned for it, neither could really control it, and certainly neither was able to prepare themselves for how intense that would feel.

Normally, Steve’s instincts would be to comfort him in whatever way possible; soothe him, take care of him in the way they’ve always done things. Except that right now, Steve doesn’t know what to say and even less, what to do. Anxiety starts to wash over him, quickly erasing all the great, amazing things he’d just been feeling. He’s already mourning the loss. But _Christ,_ oh god, what did they do… Like with Bucky, it then hits Steve.

And the thing is, he doesn’t think he _can_ handle it. He’s not capable in this moment of giving Bucky what he wants, because he knows _exactly_ what that is – and he just can’t do it. That’s bad enough; that makes him feel horrible, but… It’s more than that now. He’d made love to Bucky and the gravity of the situation had finally, _finally_ caught up with him in the midst of it and slammed into him full force.

He wants to be with Bucky forever. He wants every last thing Bucky listed about having a future together. He broke the only rule that mattered when it came to him keeping a straight head about their relationship. He _knew_ that if he fell – and fell that hard – and Bucky were to find out, Steve would never have it in him to walk away, no matter how much he’d have to. Because Bucky would refuse to let him go. If he knew Steve loved him back, Bucky would never stop fighting. And Steve would never stop going back to him, an endless cycle.

They… _cannot…_ be together… How Steve feels changes _nothing_ …

_…Why did you have to do this to me…_

He realizes they’re not looking at each other anymore. Somewhere along the line, one of them broke the eye contact (Steve isn’t sure who), and then the other followed. Carefully pulling out of him, Steve’s movements are now hesitant as he slowly gets off of him and rolls over onto his back. Bucky says nothing from beside him, but then gets up after another few seconds and disappears into the bathroom, presumably to clean himself up.

Steve wishes he knew what to do. He doesn’t know how Bucky’s state of mind is right now and he doesn’t want to leave him hanging and fail him as someone who promised to take care of him. But his own emotions are too compromised to be of any use. He doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself, much less how to be there for Bucky. God, he wishes he knew.

Bucky returns a couple minutes later. He still looks lost in thought, and no less bothered. Steve rolls over to face him the moment he’s walking back in, but the smile they try to give each other strains; doesn’t sit quite right on either of them. All the same, Steve gets under the covers and lifts them up, and Bucky crawls in next to him. Steve does the only thing he can think to do and kisses him. There’s an apology within it… He’s not sure if Bucky can hear it, but fuck, he hopes…

Bucky tries to smile again, but it still looks off. Usually the silence they share is easy between them. Right now, it’s tense and awkward. Stiffly, Bucky turns his back to Steve, and at first Steve thinks he’s closing off contact – but then Bucky reaches for Steve’s arm and pulls it over his side. So he gets in close; close enough that his nose buries into the back of Bucky’s hair. Steve stares off to the side. Not really _looking_ , just… thinking. He can’t see Bucky’s face, but he’s staring ahead – staring _off_ – too.

He smells so welcoming, and feels so nice against him. Steve’s heart breaks. Then he suddenly hears the tiniest hitch in Bucky’s breathing, and that body begins to quiver in his arms… And Bucky’s _crying_ now, softly and trying to mask it, but he still _is_ , and… Steve’s heart shatters.

This is all his fault. He let this go on too far, _way_ too far. He should’ve ended it the moment he told himself that they could never be together. He should’ve never put Bucky through this.

“Please tell me you love me,” Bucky whimpers, voice cracking.

Steve’s face twists up. He has to shut his eyes or the rest of him is going to shatter, too. He presses harder into Bucky’s hair, like it might hide him and his shame and his guilt and his fucking pain well enough to swallow him whole. He tightens his arm around Bucky and hugs him closer, gritting his teeth to keep from doing what he _wants_ to do.

What he wants to do is say it back. What he wants to do is be selfish and risk it all for Bucky.

But it wouldn’t _just_ be him who’d face the consequences once they were caught. They’d be ripped apart from each other in one way or another – at least for a good, long while – and Bucky would get hurt, too. The longer Steve let Bucky love him, the harder it would be for Bucky to inevitably let _go_.

He thinks he might hear Bucky repeat the word _please._

Steve can’t say it back. He can’t hammer that final nail into the coffin. There’d be absolutely _no_ turning back once he did, and he knows it.

Steve can’t say it back. He can’t hold onto him and let this get worse. If anything – now he feels more certain than ever that what he has to do is, in fact, the _opposite._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Chapter: Steve thinks the right thing to do by Bucky is to end their relationship. Bucky will be _damned_ if he lets Steve walk away from what they have without admitting how he feels for Bucky _first_.**
> 
> (Okay, BEFORE THE TOMATOES START FLYING, I'm _really_ sorry about that cliffhanger!!! Also, I like to think that as the chapter progresses, the reasons behind why Bucky flips out and overreacts at the initial news of Steve having been engaged years ago explain themselves. However, if anyone here still feels they DON'T understand why Bucky got as upset over it as he did, please feel free to comment here or message me on Tumblr, and I'd be happy to answer any questions you may have  <3)
> 
> Someone messaged me recently (coincidentally enough) and asked me who my fan cast would be for Sarah Rogers - and I have no idea why, but for this particular story (it varies a lot), the only person I pictured was Monica Potter (in her younger days):
> 
> Literally the visual inspiration for what I picture Bucky looking like in this fic:
> 
> PORN PICS/GIFS FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT...
> 
> 1\. Everything's prettier in black and white <3
> 
> 2\. This angle just fucking kills me
> 
> 3\. Guuuuhhhhhhh
> 
> 4\. If you tell me this isn't one of the hottest shots you've ever seen when it comes to anal porn, then I challenge you to a duel! :P Fisticuffs at dawn!
> 
> 5\. Sexy intimate shot is sexy intimate <3
> 
> 6\. Unff. Gorgeous.
> 
> As always, most of these are found on the amazing blog, [stevebuckypornlookalikes](http://stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr.com/), so you could go and follow them ;) Until next time, sex monkeys!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve decides that it's time to end it for good. Bucky refuses to let Steve walk away so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a few people have been asking me just WHY exactly Steve's got himself so convinced that he and Bucky can't be together. You can find my answer [here.](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/post/110590255079/in-after-hours-why-is-steve-so-worried-about) :)
> 
> Oh yeah, and I've created a playlist for this fic, which can be found [here](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/post/110496670559/wicked-game-james-vincent-mcmorrow-this-is-my). In addition, Tumblr blogger [simplekeeks](http://simplekeeks.tumblr.com) thought it'd be a nice, totally okay thing to do to point out to me that [I Found by Amber Run](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbSZhGONRBg) reminds them of this story, and now I'm convinced that it's completely Steve's goddamn anthem, so... There's that, too.
> 
> You know the drill - be mindful of the tags, and heed the Underage warning. If it upsets or offends you, don't read. If you still choose to read, don't bother to comment and complain. (Seriously, why waste your time reading something that upsets you anyways? lol)
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/) is basically a place for Stucky, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Marvel, smut, or inappropriate humour - so if you feel like coming and hanging out with me, please do <3
> 
> **P.S. I am currently no longer taking prompts for the time being, due to an overwhelming number of them already, as well as me wanting to start focusing more on chaptered, more fleshed-out stories again. If you have a prompt you'd really like to give me, feel free to come message me on my Tumblr. But just know that I can't promise that I'll take it at the moment. Thank you!**
> 
> P.P.S. If any of you want an idea of how I imagine bottom!Bucky sounding in my head whenever he's getting fucked, please love yourself and watch [this video](http://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=395406556) of Levi Michaels getting drilled by Colby Keller. Levi Michaels is the most beautiful-sounding bottom, and I don't think there's anything hotter, lmao.

In the blink of an eye, everything changes.

Bucky begs Steve to tell him that he loves him, and Steve just can’t. Instead, he waits far too long to say anything back, and it’s more than obvious that Bucky understands what his silence is saying; that he won’t get his answer. He's shaking in Steve's arms, and Steve is fighting tears. The _second_ his lips part and he chokes out, “I’m sorry…” Bucky crumples.

Steve’s never seen him cry like this before… Sobbing so hard that he starts to have trouble breathing. The sound of it splits Steve in half, makes his heart ache so fucking much… And so, burying his face into the back of Bucky’s hair, Steve finally cries. Silently, in contrast to Bucky, but real and full and hurting all the same. When he eventually calms down enough to reign himself in, he rubs Bucky’s back in a weak attempt to soothe him. But the boy just remains curled up on his side; clutching his pillow and making pained sounds while he cries, and _cries_ , and... it makes Steve want to die. Bucky’s suffering is his greatest agony.

When Steve puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls, Bucky turns effortlessly and instead curls against Steve… Head on his shoulder, arm and leg immediately slung over him, and the wet feeling of tears against his neck when Bucky hides his face there. He lets Steve hold him while he clings to him like a frightened child, letting out everything he’d been locking away inside. Eventually, when time is no longer a concept in Steve’s mind, Bucky winds up exhausting himself. The crying gets quieter, and the shaking subsides, and the sniffling against his neck is fewer and farther between. The poor thing winds up falling asleep right there against Steve – eyelashes still wet and clumped together; tear stains fresh over the bridge of his nose. 

The worst part is that Steve knows that Bucky’s anguish – his tears – aren’t being aimed at him. Bucky wasn’t crying because he necessarily felt that _Steve_ hurt him. But rather, because he felt attacked and destroyed by their _circumstances._ Steve still feels like an asshole anyways, because to him, it _was_ all his fault.

Still ishis fault.

Bucky just loves him too much to see it, as far as he’s concerned. If that’s reinforced by nothing else, it certainly is the following morning when Bucky surprises Steve by _apologizing_ for how he’d acted the night before.

“I told you that I’d never pressure you into saying it back,” Bucky tells him, looking far more like his usual self again – and also genuinely guilty. Steve can only stare at him with confusion (and that disconcerting feeling where your stomach just drops and _drops_ ). Then it’s only made worse when Bucky _smiles_ at him and cups his face, adding gently, “Last night was incredible… Probably the best night I’ve ever spent with you. I just… I’d never done anything like that before and I just got a little overwhelmed. I’m sorry, I feel like an idiot. Everything felt so amazing and then I went and ruined it--”

Steve cuts him off, taking hold of his face and covering Bucky’s mouth with his own so he won’t have to hear any more. He doesn’t _want_ Bucky’s apologies; doesn’t want Bucky to feel like _he’s_ messed up. Steve sees what he’s doing: masking how he truly feels and shoving it all back down again so things won’t have to be complicated between them… Pretending he isn’t hurting inside like Steve knows he clearly is, just so they can make the best of a shitty situation.

Because isn’t _that_ a slice of fucking irony? They’d always chosen not to acknowledge the limitations of their relationship because living in the 'now' and carrying on like nothing was wrong wouldn’t ‘complicate’ their relationship. Except they are exactly that. They _are_ complicated, and their situation is complicated, and pretending to avoid it just to delude themselves into thinking it’s not complicated only makes it _more_ fucking complicated.

That night, when he heard the pain and desperation in Bucky’s voice as he pleaded to hear that Steve loved him back… Steve’s never felt that awful about anything before. Bucky deserves to have someone who can give him what he wants, and should have. He deserves a real relationship. He should neverhave to cry himself to sleep again because he feels he has to _beg_ to be told he’s loved. He should never feel he has to mask it all and apologize for wanting to be loved. There are so, so many things wrong with all of that… and Steve let this go on too far.

The ball had been set into motion on the Friday evening, actually, after Bucky had drunkenly confessed just how personally deep he’s fallen with Steve. That had put the doubts into Steve’s head, stronger and louder than they’d ever been before. Any prior times where he’d thought to himself that it’d be better if he ended it couldn’t hold a candle to how Steve felt that night. But then he’d deliberately pushed those thoughts aside come Saturday, because he’d been weak. Bucky’s always made him so weak. Throughout the day, they were still lingering there in the back of his mind, but Steve hadn’t made a concrete decision yet.

_"Please tell me you love me…"_

That made the decision for him. That night, in that very moment, Steve was certain he’d never felt heartbreak like this in his life, not even when Peggy had told him that she couldn’t marry him. At least then, there’d been a part of Steve that had known she was right. Likewise, a part of him had even agreed. Yes, it hurt. All breakups hurt, especially for a relationship that’d lasted as long as theirs did. But even amidst the pain, Steve knew that life would carry on. He never doubted that with time, he’d eventually move on and be happy again. His soulmate, he’d told himself back then, was clearly still out there.

This is completely fucking different. His soulmate had been right _th_ _ere_ , right in his arms. Steve was sure of it then and sadly, he's still sure of it now. There was nothing worse than knowing that it _wouldn’t_ get better from there – not fully.

Sure, they’ll both carry on and go down separate paths; see other people, maybe eventually get married and have families. But for him, it’ll never feel right. _Maybe_ he’ll be able to find someone else that he can love almost as much as he loves Bucky right now, but something in his gut tells him that it’ll never be the same.

Bucky’s the shining answer, the resounding _yes_ to all questions and the reason why Steve knows how to smile these days. Bucky is _it_ for him. He’ll never be capable of feeling this way about another lover again, not with his _entire_ heart. It seems like such a ludicrous thing to think… That he’s so certain that the best possible person for him is someone almost half his age. Steve tries to tell himself that he can never know for sure; he’s swept up in everything right now, _of course_ he’d be convinced that – for the time being – Bucky is his person. His light to life, his reason, his goddamn “soulmate”. After all, people are wrong about that sort of thing all the time.

But he knows, he _knows_ … Doesn’t know how, isn’t sure why – wishes he did, that he was. But he knows – he was put on this planet to hold Bucky’s hand, and kiss his lips, and make him smile, and take care of him. There will never be another living soul who’ll be able to take his place. Twenty years from now, and Steve knows he’ll _still_ be thinking of Bucky every fucking day, and wondering how he’s doing, and what he’s up to, and if he ever still thinks of Steve and misses him, too. Fiftyyears from now, and Bucky Barnes will always be Steve’s greatest lost love.

Throughout the last four months, he’s tried to consider ways they can make this work for them, he _has_. It’s just… none of them seem doable right now. Unrealistic. He supposes they could just keep hiding it from everyone for a couple years, but there’s still too high of a risk for getting caught. And what if they _did_ get caught? Well, Bucky would be criticized and judged and probably get in shit with his family.

But being the younger one, Steve can at least find peace in the fact that _his_ consequences would be less severe. People would be quicker to forgive Bucky; possibly shift _all_ the blame onto Steve to somehow paint Bucky out as someone who was manipulated and taken advantage of. A victim. That’d be everyone’s way of making sense of the situation. Steve knows Bucky would fight that tooth and nail; there’s not even a shred of doubt in his mind that that’s how Bucky would respond. Bucky would never throw Steve to the sharks like that. He’d sooner be torn apart _with_ him.

Not like Steve would give a fuck, though, if that was the criticism he faced. He’d take that damnation and bear it silently if it’d help Bucky move on from it (from _him_ ) in one piece.

Because _he_ would undoubtedly get the brunt of the flack. He’s older, ‘he should’ve known better’ – he was the adult and Bucky was the child, and Steve’s nothing but a sexual deviant. That’s what the majority would vote on. And no, maybe what they’re doing isn’t technically illegal, but that wouldn’t stop people from finding it any less immoral. If word got out about them in _any_ possible near future, Steve would probably lose his job.

He doubts people would even attempt to understand that he and Bucky, they were _never_ just a fuck to each other – even back when _they_ thought so. It was always more. As a grown man, you try telling people, “I love him, and he loves me, and I think we’re meant to be together,” and you sound like nothing but a pedophile. The very word alone makes Steve feel sick. He’s not that sort of person; he’d _never_ do that to a child. He’s the guy who wants to _beat the living hell_ out of people that despicable. But that’d be his title, branded onto him by so many. Probably by a lot of his friends, too. The worst part is, even if he disagreed, he’d have to understand where they’d be coming from, at least to some degree.

He wonders if his mother would be disappointed in him about all this. Would _she_ think something like that, if she could’ve been around to find out? Steve tries to rationalize that yeah, at first she’d probably be shocked. Maybe she’d get angry at first because she wouldn’t understand how or why he could’ve ever done something like that in the first place.

But then he’d explain it all to her… He’d let it all come out, and his feelings would be all over his face, and Sarah Rogers knew her son better than anyone. She’d get it. He has to tell himself that, at least. She’d get it – would more than likely be blunt with him about the fact that _not many others will_ , of course – but _she_ would. He and Bucky would have at least _one_ person in their corner, if no one else. He wishes he could’ve introduced them… She would’ve lovedBucky…

But the fact is, she’s _not_ here anymore, so they’ve lost that only person in their corner. Parents wouldn’t feel comfortable having their teenage kids taught by some man they’ve prematurely deemed a ‘monster’, a ‘predator’… So Steve would lose his job, of course he would. But then word also travels and spreads, too, doesn’t it? People would talk, then _more_ people, and more than that, and before Steve would even have the chance to blink, no school in the State would want to hire him. It’d probably even be splashed all over the media. Steve would become a social pariah.

Yes, he’d still have Bucky throughout all that, but… _that_ also comes back to Bucky, too. He’d get all the disgusted looks as well, and they’d never be able to have a normal relationship unless they fucking moved out of State or something. If Bucky’s family ever accepted them together, it wouldn’t be for a long time. It’d be them against the world – but the world, at least for the indefinite future, would be trying to rip them apart every chance it got.

Steve would probably have to give up teaching altogether, because even moving elsewhere, he only _really_ has Shield High to his name on his resume. It’d be brought up to any future potential employers no matter where he went. This would haunt his resume; taint it for the rest of his life – a thing that’s nothing but a misunderstanding on _everyone else’s_ part.

It’s all so overwhelming that Steve can’t even take a second to consider that perhaps that’d be the perfect doorway to trying a _different_ dream of his. When one door closes, it’s not like every single other possible door stays closed, too. That’s not how the old saying goes, anyways. Steve always dreamed of being a professional artist, after all. Maybe that'd give him the chance to try... Except all of that feels, those sorts of options, feel too absurd to entertain. Maybe it's narrow-minded, but it's just the way Steve feels. It _is_  blinding; the stakes feeling so high that it faults Steve with a limited view of things.

When he tells himself that he wants to be with Bucky but he _can’t_ , it’s truly how he feels - what he's convinced himself as fact - despite how much it destroys him.

And _that_ was why he could barely sleep that Saturday night, after they’d made love. Because he couldn’t recall a worse feeling than holding Bucky to him and listening to his deep, steady breaths… Gradually feeling the tears dry and erase away all the evidence; the _real_ truth about how this whole thing makes them feel… And knowing that he’d made up his mind.

It's why he can't hear Bucky apologizing now and  _smiling_ at him like everything's fine, as if there was ever a version of this were they things  _could_ be. It all hurts too much, too fucking much. Steve kisses Bucky until Bucky forgets what he was saying.

He’ll always love Bucky the best. But this is what he feels he needs to do – not just for his sake, but more than that, for Bucky’s. Bucky’s always Steve’s priority, more than anything else. More than himself. He doesn’t feel he can give Bucky the happy, healthy life he deserves. Therefore, _he_ is undeserving of Bucky. The best way he could do right by him is to let him go and give him the chance at a normal life, with a normal partner… One who can tell Bucky that they love him a _million_ times a day, because Bucky should never hear it _any_ less than that.

It doesn’t matter that whoever that person will wind up being, they will _never_ cherish Bucky the way Steve does. They’ll never be physically capable of loving him like Steve does, but… They still _will_ , and be able to tell him so… and that makes them more worthy of Bucky than Steve Rogers ever could be.

He’s let this go on long enough, but he’s finally made up his mind.

Like all good things eventually must, this has to come to an end. And so that’s exactly what Steve’s resigned with himself to do.

* * *

The problem, Steve quickly learns, is that he has no idea how to actually end it. 

On paper, the easiest way would be to flat-out tellBucky. But that seems too harsh – and honestly, Steve isn’t sure he’d be able to do that anyways. Not with how intense things are between them right now.  _Es_ _pecially_ not so soon after they made love like that. A breakup right now – _fuck, how can it be a ‘breakup’ when they’re not even really_ _together??_ – would be too unexpected and unfair. And Bucky, he feels so strongly for Steve right now, and Steve… well, he already knows full-well how fucked he is at the moment. Bucky would only need to shed _one_ tear (maybe not even that much), and Steve would completely fold and take it all back.

So he convinces himself that the best thing to do is gradually put distance between them. Steve’s never once claimed that he’s some sort of King of good ideas. He knows he’s proven throughout this whole thing that if anything, he’s the King of _bad_ ones. If stupid, sporadic choices when it comes to Bucky were its own town, Steve would be Mayor, no questions asked.

It’s not like he’s arrogant enough to think that this plan is in any way brilliant. To some degree, it leaves him feeling sneaky and double-crossing, which he doesn’t like. He feels like he’s trying to pull a fast one over Bucky, which he doesn’t like either. But what are his alternatives? There’s absolutely no easy way to end things with a person – let alone someone so much younger than him. Let alone when it’s _Bucky_ , and ending this between them means so much more than stopping some pointless, emotionless fling.

It starts with the texts. He tries not to reply to them as frequently. If he does, he's purposely waiting a little longer than usual to reply. He needs to reprogram his mind; change that feeling of _I need to talk to him_ the second he gets a text from Bucky to _I don't absolutely have to_. Unfortunately, making himself change his habits does nothing when it comes to how he feels about it. Regardless of whether he texts Bucky back immediately or a half hour later, he still doesn’t feel right until he finally does.

Over the next two weeks, he also starts making excuses when it comes to getting together. Bucky will ask if they can hang out, and sometimes, Steve will lie and force himself to look genuine as he apologizes and explains that he has plans already. Once, he even lies and cancels at the last minute on plans they _do_ have, because he’s feeling particularly weak that day and he _knows_ that if Bucky comes over, Steve will sleep with him… Maybe even try to make love to him again.

He wants it – it’s been gnawing at his bones since _that night_. The more he’s trying to push away from Bucky, the harder the invisible tether between them is trying to yank Steve closer again. He needs it. But he knows it’d be selfish to have it. So canceling seems like the right thing to do.

And the worst part is that he recognizes that Bucky can tell that something’s up - that Steve’s acting different. But every time, he just rolls over and takes it. Because he really _does_ feel bad about what’d happened on Saturday, no matter how much Steve keeps insisting that there’s no need to apologize. Steve makes the mistake in thinking that he’s being at least _somewhat_ convincing, but Bucky can still see that Steve’s being weird, and he’s more than likely attributing it to what’d happened that night.

So he just takes it all. Every time Steve says he can’t hang out, there’s a flash of disappointment and confusion on his face – that silent question: _Is he still upset with me over the ‘I love you’ thing? How can I fix this?_ – but then he’ll just throw on an unassuming smile and reply, “Oh… okay. I understand, that’s fine. Well, how about tomorrow?”

The ‘tomorrow’ alwayscomes, by the way. Steve struggles every time he turns down a night with Bucky, but he’s never capable of saying no twice in a row. So what that means is that they start to see each other about half as much as they were before, _but they’re still seeing each other_. And when they’re together, things feel even more complicated than they were before – as if that was even fucking possible.

It usually all goes down the same way: they’ll be cuddling, or eating, or whatnot. There’s _always_ an elephant in the room large enough to kill them both if it would so much as _try_ to take a step. Steve tries to find that balance between being present in the room with Bucky, and also taking just how touchy-feely he is with him down a notch. First by about ten percent, then twenty, then…

Bucky will keep asking him if everything’s okay; say something like, “You’ve seemed sort of… off lately…” And Steve can seethe worry in his eyes, the self-doubt… The not knowing _what_ exactly he did (if he did anything at all), and _why_ Steve’s not smiling at him the same way he always had before. Steve’s a terrible liar. Every time, he replies that he’s fine; that Bucky didn’t do anything wrong. He lies because he’s a coward, and he _could_ just break up with Bucky during _any_ of those nights, but he’s afraid he won’t be able to. He keeps telling himself that with just a bit more time, he’ll be ready. He’ll be strong enough to do the right thing. So in the meantime, he just keeps falling back into the cycle of one _wrong_ thing after another.

And yet again… Bucky accepts it. He doesn’t push, even though he’s clearly not convinced at all. Steve finds that if they cuddle, Bucky holds him tighter. He wonders if Bucky realizes what’s going on – what’s _going_ to happen… And it makes Steve start to hate himself. If he’d put a stop to this months ago, Bucky wouldn’t be in this badly ( _and neither would he_ ). He wouldn’t _have_ to be playing out this meticulous strategy to try and get Bucky to care about him less by pulling back bit by bit from the relationship. He’d be able to end it with Bucky and Bucky would be more than fine; able to leave with his heart intact.

 _Steve_ would be able to end it, period. It wouldn’t feel so fucking hard for him.

The worst part is that they’re still intimate whenever they _do_ get together, and more and more does it feel exactly like it had when they made love. There’s a different kind of desperation to it that was never there before. Steve will try to keep his kisses chaste and deflect any sort of advances that he knows from experience lead to them having sex. But then Bucky will keep trying, and Steve can _feel_ how scared Bucky is that Steve doesn’t seem to be touching him the same way anymore, and that he has no idea where this came from. At first, Steve had thought he was doing good – was able to hang out with him three times without letting anything sexual happen.

But then all it’d taken was Bucky refusing to let Steve turn his head away while Bucky kissed him, again and again. If Steve pulled away, Bucky’s hand was on his cheek and pulling him right back in. All it’d taken was for Steve to _feel_ Bucky’s confusion and pain in the way he was being kissed… For Bucky to pin him down and throw a leg over him to straddle him… For Bucky to grind against him frantically, like if he didn’t make Steve hard fast enough, he’d lose that moment completely; lose _Steve_ …

In the end, all it’d taken was for Bucky to whimper the word _please_ , and Steve just couldn’t stop himself anymore. His arm was around Bucky in a split second, and then Bucky was flipped onto his back. Down went the moral high walls of Steve’s nobility, and off came Bucky’s clothes. Their movements were hectic and clumsy and rushed, and it straddled being _rough_ , like their usual fucking, and _overwhelmingly emotional_ , like that Saturday night. Steve held him so close the entire time he pounded into him, and Bucky cried out with every thrust – loud and pleasured, but with that hint there of pain in there.

Not physical, no. The deeper kind. The kind that makes Steve hate himself just a little bit more whenever he sees it on Bucky’s face and knows that he _is_ the cause now. There’s no justifying it with another excuse.

And that’s how it’s been for them since, every time they’ve gotten together since. Steve knows he needs to change that, too. All he’s doing is sending Bucky mixed messages; he’s trying to be less available for him, but then he’ll go and let them fuck every time they see each other in private. He specifically chose the first course of action because he wanted to give Bucky some sort of fucked up chance to maybe get over a Steve a little, so the breakup wouldn’t hurt him so badly. So he knows that continuing to sleep with him is doing neither of them any good. Steve knows he can’t expect Bucky to have any hope of letting go or moving on if Steve’s still giving Bucky reason to think that they _should_ be together.

Objectively, Steve knows all of this makes him an asshole. He tells himself that every fucking day. Subjectively, though, he doesn’t know how to let go himself. The vibe he’s putting out there is so convoluted because _he’s_ no better right now. He’s all over the place – ‘conflicted’ doesn’t even cover it.  

He needs to get his shit together and just end this already. At this point, they’re both going to be broken-hearted no matter whathe does anyways.

* * *

It’s a Wednesday, about another week later, and Steve’s especially unlike himself today. He can’t seem to sit still; even has to call into work and get them to bring in a substitute to cover his shift because he spends all morning feeling like he’s going to be sick. Thankfully, given that Steve’s barely used any of his sick days in all the years he’s worked there, he doesn’t get a hard time about it. 

Bucky texts him for most of the afternoon, even when Steve reminds him that he’s still in class and should be paying attention. None of Bucky’s responses help untie the knot in his gut:

**_Can’t concentrate when I’m so worried about you, stupid :(_ **

**_This sub sucks btw. It’s Jameson, you ever met him? If you haven’t he’s a gigantic dick. Makes me miss you so much more than I already do :( :( :(_ **

**_Stop telling me to NOT text you. I need to make sure you haven’t gone and died on me :P_ **

**_You feeling too sick for me to still come by tonight?_ **

Normally, that would been the perfect opportunity for Steve to make an excuse and bail. Except that this time, Bucky coming by is exactly what Steve needs to happen – the reasoning behind it being the source of his twisted stomach and tight chest, literally all fucking day. When he replies that yes, he still wants to see Bucky that night, Bucky – none the wiser – answers: **_Good, cuz I’ve missed you like crazy <3 Maybe I can take care of YOU tonight :)_**

If only Bucky knew. _God_ , Steve’s a horrible piece of shit. Bucky has no idea, he doesn’t – and Steve’s a rotten prick. He’s made up his mind that he needs to stop dicking around and just _do_ it. He decided that the night before, actually… Hence being this stressed all day. Again, that feeble little part of him that doesn’t want to end things rears its head; tries to ration with him to not go through with it.

 _He doesn’t want to see Bucky and break up with him_ , that voice tries to argue; that he can just throw his big plan into the air and say _fuck it…_ Let Bucky cuddle up to him again, and let himself wrap his arms around him back, and let themselves get lost in each other’s bodies again – because that’d be so much easier than saying goodbye.

Of course that option would be easier. _But it’d also be the selfish choice_ , the rest of Steve counters. Because he can’t ignore the reality of things anymore. He can either end it with Bucky today, or end it with him in a month. But either way, he’s _going_ to have to end it, because that’s what he has himself convinced is the only plausible option.

Shortly after dinner, Bucky _does_ drop by, and Steve loses his nerve for a while. He’d armed himself with the idea of having the conversation as soon as Bucky showed up, but then he just… can’t. He forgets how he planned to say everything and his mind completely blanks on him. Suddenly, he isn’t sure anymore how to even start that sort of talk, so he just keeps letting the night pass and the time slip away from him while he tries to figure it out.

It happens when they’re watching TV. This night has been even more uncomfortable for them than usual, namely because Bucky came over with every intention of cuddling, and Steve’s been making a point not to really let that happen. His body language is tense and unapproachable. By association, Bucky is clearly feeling just as awkward. Steve keeps his eyes on the television like there’s nothing more interesting in the world, and he can see Bucky shoot him glances from his peripherals. But Bucky says nothing – he’s _still_ walking on eggshells around him, even weeks later; trying so hard to be on his best behavior so as not to make the situation (as he sees it) any worse.

A commercial comes on for Le Cordon Bleu, and Steve finds himself opening his mouth before he can think better of it.

“So have you decided at all what you’re gonna do about University?” he asks, still keeping his gaze ahead.

Bucky relaxes a little beside him at this one little piece of what he can only see as _progress_ ; that Steve’s making conversation with him – not ignoring him – and doesn’t _that_ make Steve feel even fucking worse. “Yeah, sort of,” he replies. Turning so he’s facing Steve, he rests his elbow on the back of the couch and tips the side of his head against his hand. “I’m still between NYU and UCLA, but I’m thinking I’m gonna go with NYU.”

They’ve spoken about it here and there, ever since the second semester started. Bucky was offered a scholarship from several schools, all trying to convince him that _theirs_ was the institution best suited for him. The last time they spoke about it was when Bucky had mentioned that he’d narrowed the choice down to those two schools in particular.

At the time, the idea of Bucky choosing the option over in California panicked him (though he never let it show, nor would he ever have), because him being on the other side of the country from Steve was too surreal. The thought of hardly ever getting to see him had torn him open – _still does_ – but he also knew it’d be unforgivably self-centered for him to make Bucky feel guilty about it. He’s all for whatever would make Bucky happiest in the long run _(clearly)_. If it’d been a month ago and Bucky told him he’d decided on UCLA, Steve would’ve been crushed, but he would’ve supported Bucky just as strongly.

It’s just that back then, he would’ve been _happier_ inside if Bucky picked the option that allowed him to stay.

Now, though…

“Are you sure that’s where you really want to be?” Steve asks carefully – still looking to the TV, _still_ not meeting Bucky’s eyes. He tries to come off casual. In doing so, he comes off far _too_ casual. Unfortunately, his stupid mouth just keeps on flapping away, and he adds, “I don’t want you to pick something too prematurely, just because NYU and I are in the same place.”

There’s a pause, and Bucky stammers out not even a full syllable before exhaling a strange sound. Steve finally glances to him. Bucky’s brows are knit and his eyes are narrowed, but he’s smiling like he doesn’t get it. “That’s… That’s a little narcissistic, don’tcha think?” he tries to joke. “I mean, I told you that I’ve been wantin’ to go to NYU for _years_ – long before you came into the picture…”

Steve shrugs, working too hard on keeping his facial features unassuming. “I know. I just thought that… I dunno, maybeyou’d wind up making your choice because you're a little biased now.”

Bucky reaches out and places his hand over Steve’s. “Steve, if I pick NYU, it’ll be because that’swhere _I_ want to be, not because I felt I _had_ to for you, okay?” he says reassuringly. Except it’s _not_ reassuring at all because everything is only making Steve feel worse. “And I mean, hey, it’s not like that’s not a perk, too. Of course I’d also love to be able to stick around and keep seein’ you. It’s not _the_ reason I’d pick a school in New York, but it’d definitely be something I’d have considered when pickin’.”

Steve almost makes a frustrated sound, but he’s too busy still trying to pretend that he’s _not_ a fucking asshole. Bucky _isn’t_ getting it.

“I just wanna make sure you’ve done all your research before you make your choice, that’s all,” he replies. “Weigh out your options – _all_ of them… UCLA has a great psychology program. Plus, I mean, you’ve never been that far out West before. It’d give you the chance to travel a bit, like you said you’ve always wanted.”

Bucky’s smile starts to lessen. He’s blinking a little quicker, still looking confused. That smile looks almost _weak_ when he narrows his grey eyes a bit more and then says, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re tryin’ to tell me you _want_ me to go out there.”

He’s still trying to force his tone to be light, almost joking. But he’s starting to fall flat on his words, and instead it’s coming out unsure. As unsure as Bucky visibly looks right now.

Steve looks away and makes the mistake of habitually chewing the inside of his cheek. He should’ve known better, because that’s something he only does when he feels unsettled about something. And unfortunately, _Bucky_ knows that about him, too. “I was just bringing it up, Buck, that’s all,” he mutters, already losing more of his nerve. “Just… forget I said anything.”

He’s fucking terrified right now; doesn’t know whether to push forward with this or run away with his tail between his legs and admit defeat. He’s not sure at _all_ anymore if he has it in him to leave Bucky, or how to even have this conversation.

“Steve…” Bucky slowly says. Now his smile is completely gone. His voice is low; trying to be calm but is really anything but. “What's going on?”

“I’m just saying, you never know what’s best for you until you give it a try,” Steve says.

Bucky’s brows rise a bit and his mouth falls open. There’s the sound of a scoff mixed with a breathy, humorless chuckle, and then Bucky shakes his head to himself and retorts, “So hold, let me try and get this straight: you _want_ me to go to UCLA? Across the country, away from you all of a sudden? Oh, sorry, because you ‘want me to consider all of my options’,” he parrots back flatly.

He’s calling Steve on his bluff. Now Bucky’s got him backed right into a corner.

“What’s going on?” Bucky continues. “Seriously, what’s this really about? You’ve been acting weird with me for _weeks_ now – seriously, Steve, _what_ is going on?”

Steve stares down at his hands, which are folded rigidly on his lap. His face feels hot and his heart’s racing, and there’s so much fear and adrenaline rushing through his body that he feels seconds away from becoming lightheaded. Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to look back at Bucky and does it… Calmly tells him, “I think we need some time apart.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, but the rest of his face falls. Genuinely looking like he can’t believe what he’s just heard, he’s the one now to avert his gaze away as Steve’s response sinks in. “I…” He’s dumbfounded, completely blindsided; keeps opening his mouth to say something but then finds no words, not at first.

“Why?” is what he finally asks, at the same time that he looks back to Steve. The expression on his face would be like a sledgehammer to Steve’s heart if it wasn’t in a hundred pieces already. “Is it because I asked you to tell me you loved me? ‘Cause m’so fuckin’ sorry about that, Steve, I… I’ve been _trying_ to make that up to you, and… _not_ pressure you… Okay? I’m sorry,” he insists, already desperate. “Just… Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it… okay?”

And then he _nods_ at Steve, quick and small, like that’s the solution right there and if Steve could just say, “Okay, Buck,” this whole thing would be solved.

“You didn’t do anything,” Steve answers, “and it has nothing to do with that.”

“Then, I – I don’t understand. _Why_ are you saying this? Like… what the fuck is going on?” he weakly demands. His voice is too soft, though. He’s breathing faster, and Steve sees how hard he’s trying to keep it together and stay calm.

Steve’s eyes fill up with tears. He’s a pathetic, weak bastard. He deserves the hatred Bucky’s going to feel towards him for this. Opening his mouth, he tries to answer, but his throat clenches too tightly. Shaking his head, he can only whisper, “I’m sorry,” and then rise from the couch. He has no idea where exactly he was intending to go, but maybe a glass of water will help.

The _moment_ Steve stands, Bucky scoffs out another indignant sound. Steve can still feel a pair of eyes on him as he rises, and then Bucky incredulously asks, “So… what – you’re breaking up with me? Is _that_ what’s happening right now?”

Steve’s too ashamed, feeling too out of air. He ignores the question and makes for the kitchen when Bucky leaps to his feet and bounds after him. He grabs Steve’s arm and yanks him hard enough to spin Steve back to face him.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me right now!” Bucky shouts at him. His face is growing red, he’s panting softly. “What the fuck, Steve, answer me when I’m talking to you! You basically ignore me for two weeks and act all fuckin’ weird about me and then tell me out of _nowhere_ that we need a break? There’s no such _thing_ as needing a break, Steve – people only feed other people that bullshit when they’re trying to break up with them!”

Steve can’t meet his eyes. That’s the next thing Bucky has no intention of letting Steve get away with.

“No, you don’t get to do that,” he snarls in a low, shaky tone. Pointing, Bucky says, “You wanna end things with me? You fuckin’ _look_ at me while you do it! Look me in the eyes when you do it, Steve!”

“We were never together,” he mumbles back weakly. Steve knows he doesn’t have much of a defence right now.

Bucky’s mouth drops again and he lets out one singular note of cold, bewildered laughter. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” he asks; repeats louder, “Are you _fucking kidding me!? Yes we were!_ You can wrap it up and label it any goddamn way you want, _Steve_ , doesn’t matter how pretty the fucking bows are or how neat the stupid wrapping paper was – we _are_ together! We may have never called each other our ‘boyfriends’, but you don’t do the kind of shit we did, with people who don’t matter. And if _that’s_ the story you’re trying to sell me, then you’re a realpiece of fuckin’ work!”

Steve’s face pinches up as he grimaces, staring anywhere but at Bucky. He knows Bucky’s right.  _F_ _uck, he knows…_ He also knows he had this coming; he deserves this. So he tries to stand his ground without getting riled up himself.

“We knew what this was from the start,” he says. “This was never gonna last. I… I don’t know how many times I could’ve said that…”

“I never planned to fuckin’ fall in love with you from the start!” Bucky retaliates. “Yeah, ‘kay Steve, I’ll humor you – in the beginning, we just fucked. Meant nothing. But you _know_ after that, it became so much more! I never asked to fall for you, you – god, you _asshole!_ ” Bucky’s still seething, still shouting, but his wide eyes grow glossy with tears. “You think I don’t know there’s more to it than that? Huh!? I _know_ you, Steve – I know you better than anybody fuckin’ else in your life right now. I know when you’re keeping shit from me! So _what is it?_ What suddenly made you decide that I wasn’t good enough for you no more!?”

A pitiful sound gets lodged in Steve’s throat. He couldn’t be pressed any harder against that proverbial corner if he tried. He has to blink fast to ward off his own tears. That’s when he mumbles, “It’s not about that. You – you _are_ good enough, I just--”

Bucky lays his hands into Steve’s chest and shoves. Steve’s unprepared and almost trips, but luckily doesn’t.

“You fuckin’ coward!” Bucky cries through gritted teeth. His fury is getting replaced with something else… Something still accusing and betrayed, but… _This is what watching a heart crack in two looks like_. Tears start to stream down his face. “I’m not a fucking idiot - I _know_ why you’re doing this. It’s ‘cause you’re worried about what everyone _else_ will think – _oh, Steve Rogers, he fucked a minor, burn him to the cross!_ ” he yells, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“Buck--”

“Why the fuck does it matter what everyone else thinks!? If you _really_ gave a shit about me, you’d put up a fight! You’d _fight for me_ , Steve – _just_ like I’d fight for you! If you stopped living your life caring so much about what everyone  _else_ thinks, we could figure out a way to make this work, together!”

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” Steve snaps, unable to help it. “You think I just woke up one morning and thought to myself, ‘Oh hey, well, _that_ was fun, but I think I feel like breaking Bucky’s heart today’? No, I _did_ consider the options, and none of them are realistic! They all either involve having to hide our relationship for fucking _years_ , or me never being able to do my job again if anyone found out!”

Bucky shakes his head, gritting his teeth harder and making a loud sound of frustration. “Those are _not_ our only options, Steve! _Jesus Christ_ , you think that maybe you could’ve included me in some of these conversations sometime, we could’ve talkedabout it and fuckin’ figured something out together! But _noooo_ , you had to go be the martyr – you _always_ have to fucking go and be the martyr!

“Ihave a voice in this relationship, too!” Bucky continues in a shout. “If you’d let me have one on this at _all_ , maybe you would’ve known that I don’t give a shit if we have to keep it private! I’d be fine with that, Steve, because it’d mean not having to lose you! People will _always_ turn around and judge us, whether they found out in five years or fuckin’ twenty – but they always will because of the age difference, and that’s just the way it is!

“But you think that in fuckin’ _five_ years from now, your bosses are gonna give a shit that you’d be dating another _adult_ who just so happens to be younger than you? You _really_ fuckin’ think they’d care that I used to go to the school? I bet you they wouldn’t even remember my face! You think you’re the first teacher in _all_ of the history of the _world_ to date an ex-student later on in life – are you really that conceited!?”

Steve opens up his mouth to answer when Bucky steps forward and pushes him again.

“Don’t push me,” Steve warns him.

“You coward!” Bucky yells over him, shoving him a third time. They’re not hard shoves; just enough to get Steve stumbling back a couple steps.

Still, Steve raises his voice and repeats, “Don’t fucking push me, Bucky.”

“You fucking coward! You’re a fucking coward!” Bucky continues to shout. “You _swore_ you’d never hurt me, and you _lied_ – you coward, you fucking goddamn _liar!_ ”

“I’m sorry, I never wanted to hurt you--!”

“You know what?” Bucky interrupts lividly. He’s not yelling now, per se, but he’s still incensed. “You wanna end things with me, then _fine!_ Do it – care more about what other people think than about what makes you fuckin’ happy, Steve! But you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me first! You fucking do that and _then_ I’ll let you bail – that’s what you wanted right from the start, right? The excuse to end this - to _ease your conscience?_ ” he spits out condescendingly.

Just like that, Steve’s blood runs cold. His own eyes are the ones widening now; his own jaw, the one hanging open. Quickly, he closes his mouth again and takes a step back without realizing it.

“Look at me and tell me you don’t love me, too,” Bucky repeats. “Say it and _mean_ it! You wanna run away from us then run – be a fucking coward, be a liar, and run! Prove to me that I never meant as much to you as the bullshit lies you fed me. But you  _l_ _ook_ at me and tell me that the other night meant nothing first. Tell me that  _I’ve_ meant fuck all to you this whole time!”

Steve closes his eyes, face pained, as he shakes his head and struggles to take a deep breath. He has no idea what to do anymore. He barely had any control over the situation to begin with, but now he definitely has none over it whatsoever. In this moment, the only thing he might be able to give Bucky is what he’s asking for. Maybe it’ll make Bucky hate him. _That might be a good thing_ , Steve thinks self-deprecatingly. At least if he hates Steve, it’ll be so, so much easier for Bucky to move on. So he forces himself to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“I don’t love you,” he answers.

It’s the worst lie he’s ever told in his life. His voice is hoarse, and he sounds pathetic and small. He’s not even convincing to _his_  own ears. Steve’s just gone and made himself completely transparent.

Bucky shakes his head in amazement… Still glowering, and mouth still opened, and brows still furrowed, and resentful tears still burning away in his eyes. “Look at you,” he accuses, “you don’t even believe your own lie. You’re fuckin’ shaking.”

Steve is. He never even knew he was. His breath keeps catching and he’s trying to gather everything back up so it doesn’t come bursting out of him. But it’s getting harder to breathe, and Steve’s _trying_ to remind himself what the right thing is.

Except now he doesn’t know anymore. At all.

Bucky closes the space between them; presses his hands to Steve’s chest and shoves him _again_. This time, Steve doesn’t even respond. He just lets out a small sigh and stumbles back the step, keeping upright.

“I know you love me, Steve,” Bucky says bitterly, pushing him again. He’s back to crying, but he’s too angry to fall apart – not this time. “I _know_ you do! You think I don’t see it every time you look at me? Every time you _touch_ me!? Say it… Goddamnit, Steve, fucking _say it!_ ”

“FINE!” Steve snaps. Without any warning, he’s shouting; can’t even seem to control the volume of his voice, or the feeling like he’s about to lose it, or the fact that his eyes are red-rimmed and he’s got tears dripping off his jaw. Chest rising and falling erratically, he yells, “You wanna hear it!? You want me to say it, Buck? _Fine,_ I’ll say it, I’ll fucking tell you: I LOVE YOU! I love you. _I. Love. YOU!_

"I fucking love you, and _sometimes_ , being with you makes me wish I’d _never_ proposed to anyone else before,  _just_ so I could’ve saved that all for you! Yeah, you make me wanna marry you, Buck! You make me wanna pack up all my shit and run away with you to some tiny little studio apartment in the middle of who-fucking-knows where, _just_ so I can be with you!

“I look at you and don’t ever want a single fucking other person putting their hands on you again! Because you’re _mine,_ you hear me? You want me to say shit like that – well there it is! You’re _mine_ , Bucky, and no matter who else gets you – no matter who else _loves_ you – you will always belong to _me_ , not them! Does that make you feel any better? _Does it!?_ I love you, I love you – _I fucking love you!_ You happy now!? HUH!?”

He’s panting. Bucky’s panting; eyes are still wide and he's still glaring… Still looks pissed. Steve’s scowling. Their faces sort of match… _Fuck irony._ Steve doesn’t know what the fuck else Bucky expects him to say – he just said it all. For a few seconds, they just look.

And then Bucky crosses the distance between them in two large steps and grabs the back of Steve’s head. Yanking him in, he crushes their lips together as his other hand flies up and clutches the side of Steve’s neck. Fingers dig into flesh; it probably hurts, but Steve feels no pain right now. All he knows is that his hands are immediately on Bucky’s hips, and he’s kissing back so hard that their teeth are clacking together; feels like their lips will bruise.

Bucky abruptly pulls away. Steve opens his eyes to find Bucky already staring. He looks no less irate, no less heated, but… his pupils are _huge._ He’s still breathing roughly but the flush on his cheeks is of an entirely different kind. Bucky shoves Steve _once_ more, and then exhales loudly and grabs him back again. Their tongues battle it out while their hands fly all over each other; clutching, squeezing, digging little half-moons into the other’s skin.

There’s no finesse to speak of. Steve rips Bucky’s shirt off and then Bucky’s going straight for his belt while they keep kissing; Bucky’s face framed in Steve’s hands as they starts to stumble around without a destination. Steve’s back hits the cupboard full of movies situated between the dinner table and the TV unit. It rocks and knocks back against the wall. Steve can faintly hear the sound of several of the figurines he’s got up there crashing over – some, falling off entirely.

He doesn’t care. Bucky’s attacking his mouth and undoing his belt, yanking his fly down… Controlling the whole thing, and Steve’s starving for it.

Bucky undoes his own pants and haphazardly strips out of them, before breaking the kiss to glance behind him. He only turns back to Steve long enough to grab the collar of his shirt in his hands, pulling him back into another kiss. The second they make contact, Bucky’s back-stepping quickly, dragging Steve along with him. There’s a heavy _thud_ when he crashes into the wall, and now he’s throwing his arms around Steve’s neck.

He’s aggressive. He bites Steve’s bottom lip _hard_ , over and over; kisses Steve like he’s proving a point. It gets Steve growling into his mouth, feeling his cock straining so fucking hard against his jeans. Grabbing Bucky by the hair, he yanks his head back, pulling a shrill gasp from Bucky’s lungs. Steve’s lunging for his neck instantly; sucks and licks and clamps his teeth down on Bucky’s pressure point, making Bucky whine. They’re already grinding against each other feverishly. Bucky’s tailbone keeps cracking softly off the wall, in rhythm with their clumsy rutting. Steve can feel every little vibration straight down in his cock.

Bucky’s hands shove down past the waistline of Steve’s pants and boxers so he can knead his ass and draw him even closer. Seconds later and he’s whining brokenly against Steve’s mouth again, trying to no avail to pull them down enough to free Steve’s cock. Steve returns the aggression, biting Bucky’s lip between his teeth and tugging as he leans away. Releasing it, he drops to his knees so he can tear Bucky’s underwear down his legs. Bucky distractedly kicks out of them and then moans loudly when Steve leans in and licks a hot, flat stripe up his erection.

He feels Bucky’s fingers start to scrape into his hair, along his scalp, but _no._ Instead of sucking him into the back of his throat, he noisily kisses back up Bucky’s body, at the same time that they _both_ reach for Steve’s clothing again and shove everything down to his lower thighs. His cock bobs free – all red and leaking – and he’s got it pushed against Bucky’s pubic bone and Bucky’s face back in his hands before the younger boy can catch up. He can feel Bucky’s dick beneath his, and he _does_ want it in his mouth, in his hand, in his _ass_ … But he also wants to claim Bucky to within an inch of his life right now. He feels like he’s going insane, about to combust into molten and ash... Fucking incinerate and suffocate from the inside out.

Every time Bucky tears his mouth away to try and slide down the wall and get his lips stretched around Steve’s cock, Steve’s forcing his head back to his so they can keep kissing. After Bucky tries to escape a few times, Steve uses both big hands to clutch either side of Bucky’s face and physically keep his head still while he fucks his tongue in and out from between Bucky’s parted lips. The longer he’s kept like that – powerless to move while Steve makes him _remember_ why he’ll never belong to anyone else, not _really_ – the louder Bucky starts to moan. The harder his body begins to tremble.

Urgent. That’s how it feels. That’s how they’re moving. “Fuck me,” Bucky begs, high and breathy, when Steve’s tilting his face to the other side.

That’s how he winds up spun around, with his cheek pressing against the wall; ass out and back arched – just a little, so fucking beautiful. Steve has him spread with his thumbs and licks quickly over Bucky’s hole; burying his face between the cheeks, groaning deep and feral. Trying to loosen him up as quick as he can. Bucky tastes so fucking good, always so goddamn sweet. Steve wishes Bucky could be his diet. So fucking good, so fucking nice against his tongue,  _god_...

His short beard scratches across Bucky’s skin unforgivingly, and Bucky’s fingertips are scraping around the wall as he desperately tries to find some purchase. When Steve flexes his tongue and pushes it _into_ him, that purchase turns out to be the back of his head. Bucky keeps his chest pressed to the wall while his hands reach behind him and smother Steve’s face hard against his ass. Wheezing and whimpering, Bucky grinds himself back against his mouth, until Steve has to gather up the boy's hands and pin them to his lower back to regain control.

Two fingers of his right hand go into his mouth, darting his tongue around them to get them wet with spit. Keeping Bucky’s wrists immobile in one large hand, Steve starts to finger him. One finger first, but then soon after, with both. He licks over Bucky’s ass and bites down on him everywhere he pleases, making Bucky yelp at the sting but groan in gratitude. He wastes no time seeking out Bucky’s prostate; scraping the tips of his fingers over it relentlessly. Bucky’s legs are shaking and he’s shouting into the air a litany of _fucks_ and _yes’s_ ; whines, and praises to a god that – if real – would be doing himself a favor by not watching them right now.

“Harder,” Bucky demands, hands flexing against his tailbone in a desperate attempt to be freed… But his cock, hot and flushed and practically drooling all over the carpet from how fucking turned on he is at being held captive. This is the first time they've ever actually tried any form of bondage.

Steve twists his fingers to accommodate the change in position, allowing him to straighten back up and drive his teeth into Bucky’s shoulder. He gives Bucky what he wants: fucks his fingers into his his tight little ass, quick and brutal; withdraws them long enough to give Bucky’s right cheek a quick, sharp _smack_ , and then plunges them back in again. Bucky’s cry when he’s stuffed back up is nothing short of euphoric.

No one will ever be able to give him what Steve can.

“Condom,” Steve husks next to his ear, fingers still playing around inside of him without falter. He really doesn’t want to break apart long enough to run upstairs and grab the stuff otherwise, but he’s also not cruel – he still has enough control and thought to know that he will if he has to. Spit won’t be enough, and he’d never hurt Bucky like that.

“Pants,” Bucky answers, _thank fuck._

“Lube?”

Bucky nods, moaning. “ _Mhm_ , yeah…”

Steve goes and retrieves them, while Bucky spins around and presses his back to the wall again. When Steve grabs the condom and the small packet of slick and returns, Bucky’s chasing his mouth back while stealing the lube from him. From there, everything gets even _more_ frenzied between them. Steve can’t roll the condom on fast enough. Bucky’s hands are shaking so hard with need that when he rips open the packet, he gets lube all over them.

Neither of them give a shit. Bucky simply squeezes the entire contents of the whole damn thing into his hand, before throwing the empty packet to the side and grabbing Steve’s cock to stroke it all over him.

Steve’s got Bucky’s tongue in his mouth, so he returns the favor by moaning straight back into his. As Bucky fucks his fist over him, twisting his wrist whenever he tends to the tip, Steve’s grabbing Bucky’s left leg and rucking it up. They maneuver together; Steve, bending his knees a bit while his hand grips beneath Bucky’s elevated thigh, keeps it secured there… Bucky, tilting his hips forward and guiding Steve’s cockhead to his asshole.

The second Steve knows he’s pressing against it, he slams all the way into him.

“ _Mm-FUCK!_ ” Bucky sobs out, arching his neck and digging the back of his head into the wall. The hand that’d been wrapped around Steve flies up under Steve’s armpit so he can clutch onto his shoulder. Bucky’s mouth falls open and he skips the pleasantries. Crying out loudly as Steve starts pounding into him, he's already trying to roll his own hips down as best he can to fuck himself _back_ onto Steve’s dick.

Steve knows nothing anymore but heat and friction. Knows nothing but Bucky. He’s so tight, so fucking wet inside. He can feel it, even with the condom. Everything’s acute – the way Bucky’s balls feel whenever he fucks back in and they press to his abs; the heat building up under his shirt, making Steve’s skin boil. There’s the beginning mist of perspiration budding at the bottom of his hairline, right on the back of his neck. It’s like Steve can feel every little bit of it pushing past his skin and beading to the surface.

His heart’s running up his throat and staying there, making him choke; making it harder than it already is to breathe. He fucked up – he should’ve never told Bucky he loved him, he shouldn’t be letting this happen. He should be letting him go, but he can’t, he fucking _can’t_ , Steve’s not capable of it. His lids hang heavy over his eyes and he watches Bucky while he cries out a loud and wobbly, “ _Fuck!_ ”every time his ass is slammed back against the wall, filled to the brim with Steve’s cock. He’s deafened by Bucky’s noises and his own ragged gasps… Knows that he’d never be able to fuck anyone else again without Bucky’s voice coming back to torment him.

Every face will be Bucky’s. Every body will be Bucky’s. Steve will never be able to run from it. He’s obsessed, and he’s possessive, and he’s addicted, and he’s fucking in love with Bucky Barnes – so much and so desperately that it’s now in his bones, his skin, his air, his voice, every strand of hair on his head… In every fiber of his pathetic being.

And now Bucky knows it.

Steve’s jaw drops, baby blues widening with an unexpected grunt when he feels Bucky gripping his ass again without warning… and dipping the tip of his middle finger into Steve’s hole with the same speed as Steve’s cock inside of him. Bucky’s fingers are still slippery with lube, making it effortless for it to breach Steve without much struggle. He hasn’t had anything in him since Bucky fucked him, so for a second time, the initial penetration feels foreign. There’s a bit of a discomfort, but not much. Right now, Steve just wants more, more, _more_. All of Bucky, every last fucking bit of him. He wants his whole damn hand inside of him.

Steve breathes out an anxious sound and crushes his lips to Bucky’s. Bucky’s whining – circling Steve’s asshole faster; clutching his cheek with the other hand and simultaneously trying to coax the blond into fucking him _harder_ – and Steve’s now whimpering deep and low into his mouth. Pressing balls-deep inside of Bucky, he changes up his rhythm and alternates between rocking Bucky up and down the wall, to short and shallow thrusts. Bucky’s face scrunches up, eyes squeezed shut, and he sobs out a breathy cry before wailing out Steve’s name, over and over - shaky, and insistent, and perfect, and _fucking dying for it._

“Put it in me,” Steve growls between pants. “Finger me, baby, fuck me with it, fuck me…”

Bucky bites his lip, looking so spacey and blissed-out and feeling _so good_ that he could cry. He doesn’t nod – doesn’t give a verbal confirmation that he heard Steve at all – but he roughly shoves his finger all the way into Steve before Steve can even stop begging. It causes Steve to jolt and lag for a moment, moaning sharply in surprise, head tipping back. His rhythm may be flagging at the moment, but Bucky’s doesn’t. His teeth are still snuggly buried into that swollen, bright red bottom lip; fucking Steve’s insides with that finger as he whimpers softly and impatiently waits to get properly fucked again. 

Steve gathers himself enough to start moving again. It’s like fireworks going off all over; fucking _everywhere_ , all at once. He’s stimulated from both ends – cock, teased and slowly milked from Bucky’s muscles wrapped around it, and his own hole stretching bigger still as Bucky adds a second finger. It’s near impossible in this position for Bucky to touch his prostate, but Steve doesn’t fucking care. It’s still just as incredible. He goes back to pistoning his hips, because Bucky screams so fucking prettily when Steve’s splitting him open.

Bucky lets go of Steve’s ass with the other hand so he can wrap it around his own dick and start jerking off. After a few deep, breathless kisses, Steve leans away and opens his eyes. They both look _fucked_ ; glassy eyes, lips parted, faces red, sweat on their foreheads… Yet there’s still that fire in their eyes. Anger, and competitiveness, and… Passion, and reckless abandon… Fear and pain and… Trying to prove to the other why they can never be replaced…

Looking into Bucky’s eyes like this, seeing and feeling what Bucky feels, feeling it _himself_ …

Steve finally gets it. He understands now… He’s in too deep, and there _is_ no ‘running away from Bucky’. There is no letting go or saying goodbye. Steve loves him too much, he’s too fucking selfish. They both are. He’s never going to let another person put their hands on him this way. _Maybe_ someone else could love Bucky close to how Steve does, but it’ll never be as much. Never. Bucky needs Steve to take care of him.

And he needs Bucky. He doesn’t want anyone but him, won’t ever again. How could he have been so stupid? He’d almost given up the one person who makes him happier than anything or anyone else ever has – all because he thought he knew what would be best for Bucky, without even bothering to _ask_. But he gets it now, he _does_ …

 _He_ makes Bucky happiest. No one will ever make Bucky happier. Steve’s greedy and he _wants_ that – wants Bucky to worship him for the rest of their fucking lives, because that’s exactly what _he_ plans to do… Lift Bucky up onto the goddamn pedestal he deserves and treat him right, treat him so good. Protect him and make him smile and devote everything he has to worshiping Bucky right back; his body, his mind, his fucking spirit. Make sure Bucky never doubts again how much he means to Steve. Steve was a fucking fool for ever giving Bucky reason to doubt it in the first place.

Bucky’s starting to tense up around him. They’re sweating so bad that his thigh is starting to slip in Steve’s hand. Steve has to constantly readjust his grip, but he _does_ – doesn’t let go, won’t ever fucking let go again; just fucks him harder and harder and faster and faster and Steve hisses, “ _Mine_ ,” while staring straight into Bucky’s eyes.

It’s _I love you_ ,and _I own you_ , and _I’m so fucking sorry,_ _I was wrong_ all rolled into one. As simple as that, those eyes roll up into Bucky’s head. Letting out an absolutely _wrecked_ cry, he goes completely taut. Then Steve can feel his beautiful little asshole clamping down spastically around him, and Bucky’s shooting off between them, coming all over his own stomach and Steve’s shirt. Steve’s mesmerized; watching him with a little wrinkle between his brows, teeth bared, lower back still rolling quickly. Bucky’s so fucking glorious to look at whenever he orgasms that Steve never knows what to do with himself. All it does is make Steve want to devour him.

Panting loudly, he licks a flat line up Bucky’s throat and then snarls again into his ear, “Fucking _mine_.” Bucky, still climaxing, sobs helplessly at the declaration and twitches heavily against Steve’s body. Steve feels his balls start to draw up tight, so with the hand not keeping Bucky’s leg up, he reaches behind him quickly and closes it over the one still fucking his ass. There are _three_ fingers in him now, and Steve pushes hard so Bucky’s knuckles are digging into his skin. He needs those fingers as deep in him as possible. He wants to be able to feel it in his gut; taste it in his fucking mouth. 

Bucky moans in surprise at Steve’s initiative, but he also sounds exhausted and oversensitive. Steve squeezes his eyes shut, vulnerability washing over his features as he presses his forehead to Bucky’s and loses his coordination – thrusting quick and hectically, but his pacing all over the place as he _also_ pushes rhythmically against Bucky’s hand. Grinds his hips back, reaping all the pleasure from Bucky’s fingers like a some little cockslut. He doesn’t care; he _wants_ to be those things. He’ll be Bucky’s Dom, his 'sir', his lover, his best friend, his fucking _whore_. If Bucky wants that, he’ll give him all of it because Steve wants it too, wants it so bad, so fucking bad… He…

Comes hard, unraveling and making overwhelmed little _ah_ sounds. Shaky, pitchy hums – _mm… MMmm…_ And he knows Bucky’s watching him. Can feel it. That’s what he wants. He knows he looks as defenseless as he feels;  _sounds_ completely peeled open right now. Steve’s only been like this with Bucky once before, but he wants Bucky to have it all now.

Every day, always. He wants to give Bucky fucking everything, every part of him. Leave nothing behind. If Bucky asked to carve open Steve’s chest and scoop out his heart, Steve would die saying 'thank you' _._ It’s Bucky’s anyways. It’s always been Bucky’s, back before they ever even met. He’s just been waiting all these years; Steve’s entire life, in fact. Then he met Bucky, and it’s like his heart said, _‘There you are.’_

And that was it.

Just like what Peggy had told him: when you know, you _know._ There’s no doubt, no second-guessing that there could ever be something better for you out there. It’s all right here already. Steve thought he’d be doing right by Bucky by pushing him away, but fuck, he was so wrong. He’d never been more wrong about anything. All he would’ve done was deny Bucky his happy ending. _That_ would’ve been the cruelest thing Steve could’ve done to him… And Steve promised Bucky – promised himself – that he would never hurt his precious little boy.

When you know, you just know - and Steve _knows_. He’s known for a long time; he’s just been fighting it; caring more about everything that could go wrong, rather than realizing that as long as he and Bucky stick it out and face it together, everything will always be alright. Maybe their relationship will always be a little complicated to some degree. Perhaps there will always be people trying to spit on what they have. Steve’s mistake was that he’d been giving them the power to _matter_. Their opinions don’t mean shit if Steve and Bucky don’t _let_ them.

Fuck them. Fuck anyone who’ll try to take Bucky away from him. Steve will take them all down one-by-one, or stand up to an entire army at once if he has to. There’s no such thing as coincidence. Bucky came into his life when he did for a reason. Who is Steve to argue with fate?

He was right: he _had_ fucked up. But not for telling Bucky that he loved him…

Rather, for _waiting_ so long to do it. He should’ve been telling Bucky every single day from the second he realized it. Bucky should’ve never had to guess.

They’re still panting weakly, foreheads still touching. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and sluggishly nudges Steve a little so he can kiss the older man’s sweaty temple. Then he pulls him into a hug. There’s a soft mewl when Steve pulls out of him, but then Bucky finally lowers his leg and Steve’s able to slide his own arms around Bucky and hold him back. He’s still wearing the condom, and Bucky’s smearing his come-covered stomach to Steve’s shirt, but neither care. They’re not ready to end the moment just yet.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. Pulling away, he takes Bucky’s face in his hands and bumps their foreheads together again. He closes his eyes and swallows, before opening them again to meet Bucky’s gaze. Bucky lowers his own arms and keeps them around Steve’s waist. They’re still almost completely pressed to each other, with Bucky still leaning against the wall.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve repeats, soft but insistent, now that Bucky can see Steve’s eyes and know that he _means_ it. “I should’ve never… I should’ve never.” And then he kisses Bucky again, and Bucky breathes out a tiny, fragile sound. Steve’s breathless again when he breaks the kiss. His forehead back to Bucky’s, Steve closes his eyes again and inhales another deep breath. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, baby. I’m sorry I said we should end it; I should’ve never done that to you. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re an asshole,” Bucky says, voice cracking. But it’s not malicious. It’s more like an agreement; _you’re damn right you fucked up_.

“I am,” Steve admits.

“And an idiot.”

“I know,” Steve sighs. “I was a huge idiot. I understand if you don’t think you can forgive me. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

“For a moment, I fucking _hated_ you, Steve,” Bucky huffs, leaning in and pressing his lips to Steve’s, much to Steve's pleasant surprise. “You’re so stupid,” he whimpers; leans back in and kisses him again. Keeps kissing, keeps pausing to speak: “How could I ever fuckin’ live without you? You even know me at _all?_ You were goin’ to let me go.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Steve says, pained and genuine. He meets every kiss with the same fervor, breathing heavily again. “I’m so sorry.”

“You were gonna give me up, let someone else have me--”

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, shaking his head and pressing his lips back when Bucky swallows his apology with another hungry kiss.

A small, frustrated sound hums in the back of Bucky’s throat. He kisses Steve faster. More hurried, completely insatiable. “I love you so much, you asshole, you… I… _Fuck_ , I love you so much, Steve, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Steve breathes. Bucky whines like he really hadn’t expected to hear it back again. That’s not okay – he _needs_ Bucky never to worry about that again. “Love you, Buck… So much, I love you _so_ much, okay?” Now he pulls back so they can look into each other’s eyes again. Bucky’s already got big, fat tears making his wet. Steve gulps down the lump in his throat. “I love you,” he whispers. “Always. You understand? I’ll never put you through this again. I’m so sorry, baby… I love you so much. It’s you and me from now on, okay? We’re gonna figure this out, I promise.”

Bucky sniffles. He blinks, and two of those tears fall. Steve makes a sad sound and brushes them both away with his thumbs. Bucky’s hands come up and wrap their fingers around Steve’s wrists.

“You love me?” he asks quietly. Steve doesn’t blame him for needing to hear it so badly right now; make sure this is for real.

“Yes.”

“You love me,” Bucky repeats. His bottom lip quivers, but his mouth curls up just the tiniest bit into a smile. “You love me, Steve.”

“I do, Buck. I love you; I’m fucking crazy about you. And you love me, right?” he double-checks lightly, giving him his own tired, lopsided smile, trying to make Bucky’s smile grow. It works, even though Bucky _also_ rolls his eyes.

Sniffling again, Bucky mutters, “You know I do...” Then it disappears just as fast as he peers back up to Steve and warns him, “You _ever_ do this to me again--”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry,” Steve finishes, kissing his left cheek. Then his right. Then the tip of his nose, the cleft in his chin, and finishing at his lips. “I promise, I won’t. I just wanna make you happy, I’m so sorry I’ve been hurting you. I’m gonna make it up to you though, I promise. I’ll never let you feel like that again, swear it.”

“Swear on the Yankees,” Bucky says.

Steve chuckles quietly to himself. “I swear on the Yankees,” he vows. “Swear on _Dirty Dancing_.”

“And classic horror movies.”

“Those, too. And _Jersey Boys_.”

“That’s _my_ movie; you hardly even liked it,” Bucky mumbles, but he’s smiling again.

Steve straightens a bit and strokes Bucky’s cheek with his thumb. For a few seconds, he’s silent, bit then he nods to himself and meets Bucky’s eyes again. “Okay, then how about this? I swear on the most important person in the world to me,” he promises slowly. “I swear on my ma--”

“Steve--” Bucky whimpers, starting to tear up again.

“I swear on my ma, and everything she meant to me, and every day that I miss her… I swear, I will _never_ leave you again. Okay?” He brushes the tips of his fingers into the hair above Bucky’s ear. “I swear that we’ll find a way to make this work. If you want to make this real, we will. I want it, too. I’ll be whatever you want me to be, sweetheart. Just tell me.”

Bucky kisses him again, just for a moment. Steve wipes away a few more tears that fall, never taking that protective gaze off of Bucky’s face. “We don’t _need_ a title,” Bucky replies. “I don’t need to call you my boyfriend, but… I need this to be real. This _should_ be real, Steve… _We’re_ real. Aren’t we?”

Steve nods, whispers back, “Yes…”

“We’ll be careful,” Bucky promises. “I never want anything bad to happen to you. No one needs to know. We just need to get past the next year or two and then we’ll figure out the next step when the time comes.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve agrees gently. “We’ll be okay.”

“So… this is it? No more talk about breaking up, right? This is it, you and me… We’re endgame?” Bucky asks, hopeful, but still like he’s trying to hide his fear of rejection.

Yes. It’s as simple as that. Steve will make sure of it – after all, he’s already wasted enough time telling himself that they couldn’t be together. He’s not going to waste another second. He doesn’t know how they’ll be able to do this – make a relationship work – but they _will_ figure it out. And that’s all that matters, really.

“Yeah, Buck,” he answers. Bucky gets that shy little smile, eyes sparkling, and Steve smiles back. That’s all there is to it. The decision, as far as they’re concerned, is final. “We’re endgame.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (YOU'RE WELCOME.)
> 
> **NEXT CHAPTER: Now that they're both finally all-in in this relationship, they can start to enjoy just _being_ in it. Will return to some BDSM play... and Steve finally surprises Bucky with an aforementioned gift that leaves Bucky breathless, emotional - and horny as sin.**
> 
> Literally the visual inspiration for what I picture Bucky looking like in this fic:
> 
> Bearded Steve:
> 
> PORN GIFS/PICS FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE TODAY:
> 
> 1\. Up against the wall
> 
> 2\. Kill my ass. Damn. T_T
> 
> 3\. MORE WALL SEX, YAY, ALL THE WALL SEX!
> 
> 4\. Imagine Bucky going and making them a snack after sex, looking like this when Steve walks in
> 
> 5\. *whimper*
> 
> 6\. I've run out of commentary. I'm basically just making incoherent whimpering sounds at this point.
> 
> See you next time, sex monkeys!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now all-in and officially establishing their relationship, Steve and Bucky find that communicating openly and honestly really DOES make things a hell of a lot easier. Steve starts to feel more and more comfortable in his Dominant role over Bucky, and after an eye-opening trip to an S&M sex shop, treats Bucky to their first real 'date night'... before suggesting a certain kink that Bucky was so eager to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Heed all newly added tags, as the kink being explored in this chapter is mentioned there, in case anyone's uncomfortable with it.**
> 
> There are some honorable mentions I must include for this chapter:
> 
> 1\. Tumblr user [zombiebones](http://zombiesbones.tumblr.com/) for messaging me with the idea of Bucky wearing a loose-fitting shirt to class, looking sleepy and tousled, and softly replying "Yes sir" after Steve tells him to pay attention. That inclusion in this chapter is for YOU! <3  
>  2\. Tumblr user [bucky-the-winter-boo-bear-barnes](http://bucky-the-winter-boo-bear-barnes.tumblr.com/) for messaging me with the idea (originally one they'd had when thinking of my stripper AU) of Steve pinning Bucky's wrists to his back and making Bucky ride him slowly, until he takes over and gives it to him rough and fast. That part of the chapter is for YOU! <3  
>  3\. The anon (whose post I can't track down to link here, I'm so sorry! D:) that made the suggestion a month or so ago about imagining Steve denying Bucky the right to orgasm, until he fell asleep from exhaustion, and then stumbled into the kitchen later on with an erection and his boxers wet from so much precome. I apologize again for not remembering exactly who suggested that, but THAT part is for YOU!  <3
> 
> **I ALSO WANT TO THANK THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE FOR BEING PATRONS FOR THIS STORY:[bringbacknaptime](http://bringbacknaptime.tumblr.com/), [kissymonkey](http://kissymonkey.tumblr.com/), [bucky-pants](http://bucky-pants.tumblr.com/), [mademoisellemigraine](http://mademoisellemigraine.tumblr.com/), [lostromanianpuppy](http://lostromanianpuppy.tumblr.com/), [i-will-not-be-caged](http://i-will-not-be-caged.tumblr.com/), [unrealmonsters](http://unrealmonsters.tumblr.com/), [simplekeeks](http://simplekeeks.tumblr.com/), [lokitheavenger](http://lokitheavenger.tumblr.com/), [undercovershieldagent](http://undercovershieldagent.tumblr.com/), [charredknits](http://charredknits.tumblr.com/), an additional patron who wishes to remain anonymous, and of course, my best friend, [Shanology](http://shanology.tumblr.com/). Without these amazing people, I wouldn't have been able to continue this story (in its entirety) so soon. I cannot thank them enough! <3**
> 
> Anyways, you know the drill - be mindful of the tags, and heed the Underage warning. If it upsets or offends you, don't read. If you still choose to read, don't bother to comment and complain. (Seriously, why waste your time reading something that upsets you anyways? lol)
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/) is basically a place for Stucky, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Marvel, smut, or inappropriate humour - so if you feel like coming and hanging out with me, please do <3
> 
> **P.S. I am currently no longer taking prompts for the time being, due to an overwhelming number of them already, as well as me wanting to start focusing more on chaptered, more fleshed-out stories again. If you have a prompt you'd really like to give me, feel free to come message me on my Tumblr. But just know that I can't promise that I'll take it at the moment. Thank you!**
> 
> P.S. By the way, for anyone here who _hasn't_ seen these pictures... you should really see these pictures:

The thing about Steve is that he’s always had a horrible sense of self-preservation – but if it’s someone _else_ in need of protection, he’ll stop at nothing to make sure they’re kept safe.

Truth be told, if all he had to worry about was himself, he’d probably make mistakes along the way; _try_ to cover his angles and his tracks but somehow fall short. If he was the only person in this equation that he was protecting, the chances of being found out would probably be substantially higher, even if still just as unintentional.

But it’s _not_ just about him, and that’s where it changes completely. Above all else, it’s _Bucky_ he needs to keep safe, keep happy… And Steve will do everything within his power to make sure that his promise to Bucky is kept.

Because he’d sworn something to him that was both life-changing, but also incredibly dangerous. He gave Bucky his word – on his _ma_ , of all people – that they’d find a way to make things work between them. That has to cover a lot of grounds in order for it to be possible. It has to mean making sure that no one else discovers their relationship until the day comes when _they’re_ ready to come out about it. It also means doing everything he possibly can to make sure that Bucky’s treated the way he deserves to be treated. When he promised Bucky that they could finally be together, regardless of what that meant exactly in definable terms, he was promising Bucky the entirety of his heart.

A relationship, and a future together, and sticking it out no matter what comes their way.

Steve doesn’t know what he’ll do if – despite trying his hardest – someone _does_ eventually find out before they’re both ready. The consequences of their actions are still overwhelmingly serious, but Steve’s mistake this entire time had been assuming that his options thus far had been his _only_ ones. Bucky was right when he called Steve on excluding him from a discussion this pertinent to them both; because it’s _not_ just Steve’s feelings, and Steve’s future, and Steve’s relationship he should’ve been considering. It’s Bucky’s, too. He thought he’d been protecting him, but really he’d just been thinking very narrow-mindedly.

Yes, if they were caught, it would be bad. And yes, Steve would more than likely lose his job. He does some more checking into the subject, just to know exactly what he would be dealing with. What he finds is sort of a Catch 22 at best: while there’s no concrete law within the state of New York that legally forbids a teacher from engaging in a relationship with a student, it’s been in the talks before. It’s still frowned upon.

Legally speaking, Steve still hasn’t broken any laws, just like Bucky had assured him of the first time they hooked up, because Bucky’s over the age of consent. In fact, in just a little over a month, Bucky will finally be of age. There are some states that have laws forbidding a teacher from becoming involved in _any_ sort of sexual or romantic relationships with a student for up to two years after teaching them, due to it putting the former into an unfair position of power. Despite that _not_ being a law that New York seems to uphold, reading that still makes his stomach twist up. The difference now is how he _acts_ on those feelings.

Instead of keeping it all bottled up inside and stewing on it until it overrides all of his rational thinking, Steve prints off everything he finds and lets Bucky read through it. He can tell whenever Bucky gets to something that he _knows_ would make Steve feel uneasy with himself, because his cheek is resting on Steve’s shoulder, and he’ll turn his head so he can press a small kiss over top of his shirt. It doesn’t really alleviate the situation at hand, but the gesture always helps loosen up the knot in his gut just the tiniest bit.

“So, what this is sayin’ is that they can’t _actually_ fire you over this,” Bucky concludes after finishing the last page.

Steve sighs. “It’s not that easy, Buck. This whole thing falls into a really grey area. Just because they couldn’t _technically_ fire me over it doesn’t mean they still wouldn’t.” Bucky puts the papers down on the coffee table, his mouth twisting up and his brows knitting in a lack of understanding. So Steve explains: “Schools have a reputation to maintain. A _lot_ of people wouldn’t understand what it is you and I have. You gotta admit that from an outside perspective, a thirty-year-old with a seventeen-year-old--”

“Yeah, but I’m practically eighteen now anyways,” Bucky interjects.

“Yes, but no one would care about that,” Steve replies. “I mean, if we can make it just a few more months, then sure, we’d have the age thing a _little_ more on our side, but I don’t think it’d make much of a difference. For me to suddenly be in a relationship with you so soon after you turning eighteen would mean that I would’ve have to have had feelings for you while you were still a minor. No matter how we tried to explain it, the age difference will still be a big part of the problem.”

Bucky’s watching him with a hard gaze. But Steve knows it isn’t in any way directed at him. The frustration he sees on Bucky’s face is something he understands; is frustration towards the _rest of the world_. They can both get on an objective level why their relationship would be demonized by everyone else. But because _they_ know what’s really going on – that what they have is _real_ – it’s hard not to feel a little cheated at the way they’d automatically be painted, with little room to be understood or have things seen from their perspective.

“So they’d fire you because they’d think you were some sort of predator or something?” Bucky asks. His voice is low, but the words sound spat out anyways, and Steve can hear the edge to Bucky’s tone that comes from him likewise being protective over _Steve_. They are in this together, after all. He’s just as much Bucky’s number one priority when it comes to this as Bucky is his own.

Hearing it out loud sounds so much worse than simply thinking it in his head. Closing his eyes, Steve rubs at them with one hand and nods. “Most likely,” he answers. “Parents wouldn’t feel comfortable with me teaching their kids. The school wouldn’t want to keep me on staff with that sort of stigma surrounding me, and then it’s not likely that anywhere else in the city would hire me either. I wouldn’t be able to use Shield as a reference on my resume either, so if I tried finding a teaching job in another state, I’d have to start back at the bottom ‘cause I’d have no seniority to my name.”

Bucky’s chewing his bottom lip, staring down at his hands. For a while, he doesn’t say anything. But then Steve feels Bucky’s body jolt just the tiniest bit next to his at the same time that he hears Bucky’s breathing hitch. Looking to him worriedly, his heart breaks when he discovers that Bucky’s mouth is quivering; his face, seemingly fighting the urge to cry.

“Hey,” Steve whispers, using his arm already around Bucky to tug him closer to his side. With his other hand, he brushes the brunet’s bangs off his forehead before turning his face so Steve can properly see his eyes. “What’s going through your head?” he gently asks. “Talk to me.”

Bucky hesitates for a second, then quietly says, “I’m so sorry… This whole time, I… I guess I never really knew just how much you’d have to give up for me if people found out. It’s not a fair thing for me to be askin’ of you--”

“Bucky…”

“I know you said that we could be together, and I know that _I_ kept sayin’ shit about us making it work, but…” Bucky closes his eyes as he reaches up and holds onto Steve’s wrist. A small whimper gets caught in his throat as he fights even harder to keep from crying, but when he re-opens his eyes, they’re wet with tears anyways. Bucky struggles to keep his voice calm and even as he continues, “I can’t ask you to do this if your whole life would fall apart just because of me. It’s not… _I’m_ not worth it, Steve…”

“You stop that,” Steve whispers, cutting him off. There’s no way in hell he’s going to let Bucky think that way about himself – not if he has any say on the matter. Sliding his fingers into Bucky’s hair, he presses his palm to Bucky’s cheek and grips the side of his face tightly. “We said we’d make this work, right? You told me that we had more options than that; isn’t that what you told me?”

Bucky squeezes his eyes closed again. It forces a tear to fall from the corners of both his eyes, but he nods.

“Then we’ll find a way,” Steve assures him. “Look, baby… I’m terrified, okay? Yeah, the idea of us getting caught scares the shit out of me, but… You know what scares me even more?”

“What?” Bucky whimpers.

“Not having you,” he answers. Bucky makes a soft, broken sort of a sound. Steve responds by wiping his tears away. “We’d have other options,” he promises, both for Bucky’s sake but also his own. He needs the reminder just as badly. “I could… I mean, I could always go back to school, too; become qualified to teach post-secondary. Or I could do something else, like… I used to wanna be an artist as a kid. Mind you, there’s even less financial security in _that_ than in high school teaching, but…”

“I wouldn’t care,” Bucky tells him, finally opening his eyes. Yeah, Steve can see the conviction in them. Bucky really wouldn’t.

He gives Bucky a tiny, lopsided smile. “I’d feel bad for not being able to spoil you the way I want to--”

Bucky shakes his head. “No, I’m serious, Steve. I wouldn’t care. If it meant us living in some studio apartment, eating ramen noodles every night and both of us having to work two jobs, I wouldn’t care…” He stops himself, bottom lip trembling again. Averting his eyes, his voice breaks when he adds, “I just don’t want you growin’ to hate me.”

“What? Bucky, why would I ever hate you?”

“Because it’s not the life you planned,” Bucky answers, volume rising a sliver from emotion. “If you had to go through all this shit just to be with me – sure, we could fall back on other options, but you’d still have to go through all the bad shit first. Shit you wouldn’t _deserve_ , and… that’s the sorta thing you could grow to resent the other person for after a while.”

Steve sweeps his gaze over his face, taking that in. He gives a little nod to himself but then asks, “Couldn’t I worry the same thing about you, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“In a way, isn’t being with me robbing you of a part of your life?” Steve clarifies. He tries for his tone to not come out self-deprecating, but it manages to anyways. “If you weren’t with me, you could… go out into the world and figure out who you are, what you want… Be in relationships and grow and… make mistakes. Sometimes, I think… _Is he gonna turn around one day and hate me for taking that part of his life away from him?_ Will you wake up one morning, look at me, and realize you threw away your youth and wasted it because you thought you knew what you wanted, but…”

“No, _no_ ,” Bucky repeats while Steve’s talking. Shaking his head, he moves so that he can crawl onto Steve’s lap and straddle him. Holding onto either side of Steve’s neck, Bucky leans in and presses their foreheads together, eyes falling closed again. He breathes deeply through his nose a few times before shaking his head again and asking, “What’s the difference between me knowing I wanna spend the rest of my life with you right now, and high school sweethearts who do the exact same thing?”

Steve opens his mouth to answer, when he realizes that he doesn’t have an answer for that. Sensing his hesitation, Bucky answers for him: “There ain’t none. You think that I _need_ time to be able to figure out what I want, but what if I’m certain that I already _know_? There are plenty of people who’ve known at my age, and they proved everyone wrong when people doubted ‘em…

“Fuck _age_ , Steve – how any people older than me claim to know what they want but never have a fuckin’ clue? How many times do older people say they have what you n’ me have, only to turn around and get divorced? My grandparents were _fifteen_ when they started seein’ each other and they were together their whole lives. If you were my age…”

He exhales a humorless chuckle and mutters, “Well, if you were _my_ age, things would be a lot easier, that’s for sure. But… you hear stories all the time about people who got together in high school and wound up together for the rest of their lives. _They_ knew back then, even though they were young, and… they were _happy_ together.

“They didn’t need to go off and live a set of expected criteria just because that’s what everyone else thought they should do. They already knew that the best thing for them was already right there. Why would I give you up when I already know you’re exactly the same thing I’ll want in five years – _ten_ years? Why would I lose those years in between that I should be spending with you?”

Steve hugs Bucky close; sliding his hands up his back, first over his shirt but then underneath it… Bites his lip and exhales heavily when he can feel Bucky start pressing himself down on Steve. He’s not even sure Bucky’s _aware_ that he’s doing it. Bucky leans in so he can place a light kiss to Steve’s lips.

“I could never hate you,” Bucky whispers.

Steve tilts his chin up so he can ghost his lips across Bucky’s in return. He’s clutching Bucky to him tighter, breathing heavier, a bit faster… So is Bucky… His hips are slowly starting to grind down onto Steve in the faintest of rhythms.

“I could never hate you either,” Steve tells him. “Never…”

“Tell me we won’t get caught…”

“We won’t get caught,” Steve promises, and _right there_ , he knows he’ll stop at nothing to make sure of it – for Bucky’s sake, if no one else’s. “I won’t let it happen, baby.”

“Tell me you’re gonna marry me one day…”

“Gonna marry you… Never gonna be anyone else but you, Buck…”

“I love you,” Bucky breathes, voice now husky and thick with arousal. Desperate with need.

“I love you--” Steve only _just_ manages to say back, and then Bucky’s covering his mouth with his own and moaning into it. It’s only seconds before Steve’s tightening his grip on him so he can flip Bucky over; work his little boy’s clothes off between shaky breaths and gasps, and start coating Bucky’s entire body with fast, feverish kisses… Reminding Bucky and _being_ reminded of what they already know:

It’s them, from here on out. If they get caught, they’ll deal with it together. But Steve _won’t_ let them get caught. Like with every other aspect of their relationship, Steve’s going to keep him safe. That’s his role; that’s his purpose. The reverent way he drags his tongue over every curve of Bucky’s body, the look in his eyes as he watches Bucky’s face the entire time he moans Steve’s name and eventually shatters around him, crying out… It’s all a promise. One that Bucky knows and can trust with every fiber of his being.

Steve’s all in now. Bucky never has to worry about him running again.

* * *

To make things work, they start to adjust. 

Even though they can’t tell anyone else about it, deciding that they are indeed _boyfriends_ now seems to bring things to an entirely new level for them. They’ve both known for months that what they had before was always real, but being honest with themselves and making things official – even if only between them – gives their relationship the first sense of stability it’s ever had. They were faithful to no one but each other anyways, but now that they both know they’re in it for the long haul, any doubts or fears they once had vanish.

Bucky knows that Steve loves him and cherishes him, and Steve knows that in return. One thing they hadn’t really considered this entire time, however, was how close to the chest they’d actually been playing it. It starts with Bucky’s parents. Because after a seemingly close call with them, they _do_ realize that they need to make some changes if they ever want to ensure that they can keep their relationship safe.

In reality, it’s not actually _that_ close of a call. It’s just that, ever since this had started between them, they’d been spending so much time together. Sure, once in a while, Steve would try to get out and see his friends and Bucky would do the same – but most of the time, Bucky would be _lying_ to his parents about who he’d be going to hang out with so he could drop by Steve’s place and spend the evening with him. Looking back on it, Steve has to admit that they’re actually lucky that they _hadn’t_ been caught in the past six-odd months, given just _how_ much time they’d gotten together.

But then, around the end of April, Bucky texts Steve and has to cancel their plans that night. At first, when Steve reads his text – **_My rents don’t want me going out tonight cuz they said they need to have a talk with me_** – the first place his mind goes is straight into panic mode. He tries to play it cool and not hint his anxiety to Bucky in any way, but Bucky – as always – knows Steve too well. He tells him, **_I’ll let you know what they said as soon as I’m done talking to them. Everything will be fine, Stevie. <3_**

Sure enough, what actually winds up happening is not nearly as bad as the scenarios Steve was concocting in his head. Mostly, they all centered on the panic that he’d fucked up and they _were_ about to get busted, even though he swore he wouldn’t let that happen. The second part had everything to do with him being thrown off at the possibility of them getting caught so fucking soon.

But then it turns out that the conversation Bucky’s parents wanted to have with him didn’t have anything to do with Steve _directly_ – or even anything to really do with them being suspicious of anything at all. Mostly, they just wanted to remind him that finals are coming up for him the following month, and he’d been spending a lot of time out with his friends when they feel he should be getting prepared for those. That, mixed in with the fact that come summer, Bucky will be out and about even _more_ , and then also factoring in the very good chance that he could be moving away for school if he winds up choosing UCLA, well… The point, as Bucky explains it to him, is that his parents want Bucky going out less and being at home a bit _more_ , at least until summer comes around.

Given the guilt Steve’s already felt towards Bucky’s parents from the beginning, there’s obviously no way in hell he’d say _no_ to their request. They have every right to want that from their son, and if anything, it just makes Steve feel bad about the fact that he’d been keeping Bucky from them, even though that was never his intention. Bucky continues texting him throughout the night, reassuring him that everything’s fine; it’s not like he wasn’t just as social _before_ Steve came along, so his parents know what he’s like by now.

 ** _They’re not feeling neglected or anything, you big drama queen :P_** , Bucky teases harmlessly. **_They just want me at the house a bit more, that’s all._**

Steve stares at the text while lying in bed, biting his lip and playing with the phone while he reads and rereads Bucky’s last text. Sometimes – being honest – he’s been guilty in the past of wondering just _why_ exactly Bucky seems to have so much freedom at his age. Granted, he can recall back to _his_ years in high school easily, and then again, he knows his own situation wasn’t exactly comparable to Bucky’s.

For a while growing up, Sarah had more restrictions placed on him than Bucky seems to have. But they were only ever there out of concern for Steve’s poor health. It took some time, but the older he got, the more Sarah had to trust that he’d be okay, so the amount of rules he had gradually lessened. So long as he maintained his end of the deal and kept his ma’s trust, the more freedom he was allowed to have.

It’d been awkward, the one and only time he’d brought the topic of Bucky’s parents up to Bucky. There’s no way that _isn’t_ uncomfortable to try to casually ask whether his parents give _him_ so much freedom because they have the same sort of deal between them, or because they’re negligent and just don’t care. Luckily, Bucky hadn’t gotten offended. On the contrary, he seemed to be able to recognize Steve’s need to ask, and assured him that he’d always had a very good relationship with his parents. He follows their rules and is respectful towards them; checks in whenever he goes out, and always lets them know where he’s going to be.

The only real difference between Bucky and Steve is that Steve’s trust was never built, at least in part, on _lies._ Because sure, Bucky tells his parents where he’s going to be, but he’s not telling them where he’s _really_ going to be. They’ll think he’s out hanging with Natasha, or Brock, or whoever, when he’s really with Steve. And because he plays all of his cards perfectly and covers all of his angles, he never gives them a reason _not_ to trust what he tells them.

Yeah, there are a lot of times when Steve deliberately has to avoid thinking about Bucky’s parents, or else he feels like a real asshole. Especially since he can’t exactly make any judgments on Bucky’s actions – after all, he _knows_ all about them and he _encourages_ it by going along with it. Because it means he gets to see Bucky and _be_ with him. For the time being, it’s the only way they can make their relationship work, otherwise they’d never see each other. Most of the time, Steve can justify all that and push it from sight so it doesn’t nag at him.

Other times, he wishes things could be different so he and Bucky could be together _without_ having to deceive anybody.

 ** _I’ll be lucky if your father doesn’t try to murder me whenever the day comes that they find out_** _,_ Steve finally texts back.

 ** _They’ll get over it_** , Bucky replies.

 ** _Are you sure you’re alright with the possibility that they won’t though?_** he can’t help but ask. **_I don’t want to drive some sort of wedge between your and your family, Buck._**

 ** _They’ll be pissed for a while but even if they don’t like you at first, that’s their problem_** , Bucky answers a few minutes later. **_They’re still my family and I’m always gonna love them, and they’re always gonna love me. We may need to prove things to them but we will eventually. If they can’t accept you after seeing how happy you make me, then that’s their problem not ours._**

 ** _I’ll still feel like a dick about it_** , Steve texts back.

 ** _< 3 That’s just because you’re a good person, baby_**, comes the reply on his screen. **_You have a heart of gold and trust me, even if it takes time they’ll eventually see it. I promise._**

Frowning, Steve stares at his phone for another minute or so, trying to think of what to say from the millions of thoughts going through his head. He’s doing it again, he knows – worrying about the worse possible scenarios, and things that haven’t even happened yet, and letting it pull him away from the _now_. For the time being, there’s nothing he can do about it anyways. He just tries to keep telling himself that there _are_ versions of this where maybe, one day, people _will_ be accepting of his and Bucky’s relationship – even if it takes a while first.

It’s not surprising when, after enough time passes of Steve being silent, Bucky texts him a picture of himself pointing at the camera and doing his best Grumpy Cat impression. The accompanying message says: **_Stop being Mr. Serious. You’d better be smiling or I’m gonna send you nothing but kitten videos all night until you do._**

Steve can’t help but chuckle at that. He wishes more than ever that he could have Bucky in his arms right now; nothing soothes and calms him down like Bucky pressed against him, or even just seeing his smile… But Bucky still knows exactly how to break him down when his brain’s too noisy; reach inside of his head and tap into the _positive_ thoughts he still has rattling up in there.

Before he can even reply, Bucky asks, **_Are you smiling?_**

**_Maybe._ **

**_Prove it. Send me a pic._ **

Steve rolls his eyes to himself, but holds out his phone anyways and snaps a shot of him giving the camera an over-exaggerated, open-mouthed grin. It’s worth it when Bucky sends him back another photo – this time of himself grinning in response. It’s that special one Bucky gets where his eyes crinkle in the corners and the smile seems to spread and radiate across his entire face. Aside from _Steve’s_ smile – the one meant only for Steve – it’s the cutest one Bucky has. Steve can practically hear his laughter along with it.

 ** _You’re fucking gorgeous_** , Steve tells him. **_I might just be the luckiest guy in the world._**

 ** _:) I love you_** , Bucky replies. **_We’re gonna be just fine. All this means is that we just have to appreciate the time we DO see each other even more. I’m sorry that I won’t be able to come over tomorrow anymore :( I can still do Friday though! :)_**

 ** _That’s fine sweetheart, I understand_**. Steve stares at the unsent message for a few more seconds before adding, **_Dress nice on Friday, k? I’m taking you on a date._**

His smile sprouts into a grin at Bucky’s reply: **_???????:D_**

 ** _Don’t get TOO excited, baby. It’ll still be at my house. Just trust me_** , he answers.

Bucky insists that Steve doesn’t need to do that, but he knows that Bucky’s hardly putting up a fight. And he shouldn’t, really – this is the sort of thing he _deserves_ , and the sort of thing Steve wants nothing more than to give him. So he jokingly tells Bucky to stop arguing with him and to just say thank you like a good little boy. Of course, Steve should have really known what choosing those particular words would lead to, because when Bucky replies, **_Why? What’ll you do to me if I don’t, sir?_** the effect it has on Steve is instantaneous.

Starting to feel himself grow hard, he licks his lips and texts: **_Tease you until you’re begging me to let you come._**

 ** _That hardly sounds like punishment_** , Bucky writes.

**_That’s cuz you’re assuming I’ll actually LET you come._ **

Seconds later, and Bucky’s calling him. It’s only because it’s _really_ late, and Bucky promises him that his family is already all asleep, that Steve just can’t find it in him to say no to phone sex. Bucky’s moans are hushed and his words are whispered… and Steve pictures how beautiful he must look playing with his cock, while Steve works his own and says _filthy_ things to him until Bucky’s whimpering and whining and fucking _coming_ , and Steve can practically taste it on his tongue.

With a throaty groan, he digs his head back into his pillow and reaches his own climax.

And he can’t fucking wait for Friday.

* * *

They play it safe throughout the rest of the week and don’t get together, despite how much they want to. When Bucky _does_ have a night where he’s free, Steve suggests that he uses it go out and actually spend some time with his friends. “I wanna spend every second with you too, baby, but we can’t push everyone else away in the process,” Steve reminds him. They’ve already had their fill of that – of that new relationship phase, when that’s the only thing that matters and your friends unintentionally fall by the wayside. Steve had thought that that sort of thing went away with age, but apparently not. At least it hadn’t for him. 

But now they’re actually together, and that’s part of the adjustments they need to make, too; not just seeing each other a bit less, for the time being, but getting back out there and spending time with other people as well. Bucky’s a little disappointed of course, but he sees Steve’s reasoning, and he winds up having a great time with his friends. Steve uses the opportunity to call up Sam and see if he wants to go for a run or something. Sam responds by _laughing_ and reminding him that there _are_ more fun things they can do than exercise. (Steve just thinks that Sam’s evading that topic with him because the _last_ time they went running together, Steve had out-lapped him about five times.)

It’s nice, being around a friend again. They wind up going for a few beers and shooting the shit for a couple hours. There’s a waitress there that Sam’s had a thing for for _months_ , and whenever he turns on the charm and gives her his best smile, Steve can’t help but think of Bucky and how lucky he is to finally have him. He’s terrible at hiding his own little smile, though, and after seeing it enough times, Sam pokes fun and asks him who he keeps thinking about.

Steve lies and tells him about a made-up girl at the grocery store by his place that ‘hit on him the other day’. When he describes what this supposed cashier looked like, it’s no coincidence that her appearance seems to match up with Bucky’s pretty accurately, even if only on a broad scale. Sam’s follow up question is to ask if Steve plans on putting on his pair of big boy pants and asking her out.

“Nah, I told you man, I’m not looking for a relationship right now,” he answers.

Sam holds up his hands in a surrendering gesture, a grin on his face. “Alright, hey, if you say so. All I’m saying is, first I tried – so very generously, I might add – to set you up with Sharon, and you said the exact same thing. And that was _months_ ago – _so_ , the way I see it is, there’s only three possible options.”

Steve lifts his beer bottle to his lips and takes a swig. Smirking, he plays along and says, “Okay, let’s hear ‘em – what are they?”

Sam holds up his index finger. “ _One_ , you’re telling the truth – and in which case, all the power to you; you have my utmost respect,” he says, holding out his hand towards Steve. Steve knows that Sam’s just playing; that he buys Steve’s reasoning and truly does believe that this option is most likely the real one. So he lifts his bottle, muttering affirmatively, “Thank you,” with a nod. Sam clinks his own bottle off of Steve’s and they both take a sip. That doesn’t mean Sam’s finished making his joke, though.

“ _Two_ ,” he continues after he swallows, now lifting his middle finger to join the first, “you already _have_ a girlfriend, and you’re just not telling any of us about her because you’re worried that your good pal Sam will swoop in and she’ll fall in love with _me_.”

Steve tilts his head back and laughs, Sam joining him. “Or _three_ ,” he says, counting off his ring finger as he suddenly feigns seriousness, “this whole ‘good guy’ front you’ve got going for you is some huge lie, and you’re actually a serial murderer.”

“Hmm…” Steve hums, pretending to think long and hard. “Well, I think if I was a serial killer, I certainly wouldn’t tell you,” he jokes. “That’d be the worst confession ever.”

“Hey, I never said you were a _brilliant_ serial killer,” Sam deadpans.

“And yet, _still_ more believable than option two.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?” Sam asks, faking incredulousness with an open-mouthed grin.

“Ohh, that’s how it is,” Steve retaliates.

“Alright, hot shot, you and me, right now,” his friend challenges good-naturedly, downing the last few sips of his beer before placing it down and standing. “We’re gonna settle this the old-fashioned way.”

“What – pistols at dawn?” Steve jokes, standing too and removing his jacket. He does in fact know what Sam’s referring to. All the same, while pushing up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, he adds, “Meet you at the saloon?”

“Steinhart rules, just like the good ole’ days,” Sam replies, referring to the type of darts they’d used to play – in this case, Cricket rules – back in teacher’s college together over at NYU.

When they get to an empty board, Steve brushes past him to grab his set of darts. “Now, I could be wrong, but… I believe the last time we played, I demolished your ass,” he innocently throws out there.

“That was ages ago, Rogers; you gotta stop livin’ in the past, man,” Sam quips with mock sympathy, shaking his head and putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve shrugs out of it and laughs, “Okay, _okay_ , let’s put our money where our mouths are. Winner buys the next round.”

“Victory will have never tasted so sweet, good sir,” Sam drawls, lining up his hand, taking aim, and then landing on seventeen. _Already_ , he’s acting like he won, throwing his hands in the air with a loud, “YEAH!” and then moving his arms in a circle in front of him while he does a little celebratory dance.

Steve chuckles and shakes his head, taking his place and lining up his own shot. He lands on fifteen, and Sam marks their first scores down. “Game’s just started,” Steve reminds him, a competitive smirk on his lips.

Sam winds up buying the next round.

 

\---

 

It feels more _real_ like this… Like they don’t _need_ to be attached to each other every chance they get because there’s no longer that ticking clock hanging above their heads, making them feel like any second could be their last. With that worry gone, they’re both able to enjoy their nights with other people, then go back home at the end of it and sneak another quick, quiet phone call before Bucky heads to bed. 

They’re happy to hear about each other’s evenings out, and even happier to hear each other’s voices. They agree that spending more time with their friends is good for them, both individually and as a couple. All that being said, of course – they still very much missed each other, and are practically counting down the minutes until Friday.

“Can I get a hint?” Bucky asks for the dozenth time since Steve told him about their ‘date’.

“Nope,” Steve answers, same as every other time.

“What if I’m _really_ good for you?” Bucky then asks, purposely being a sneaky little shit; trying to use the double-entendre as arsenal.

But Steve’s quick on that, too. “You’re always good for me, though. You like being my good little boy, don’t you Buck?” he asks, voice purposely lowering.

Right on cue, Bucky hums softly with content, and Steve’s heart flutters. Half the joke is on himself, since he melts at the way Bucky reacts to his words just as much as Bucky melts at the words themselves. “Yes, sir,” the voice on the other line whispers. Just like that, with just those few little words, Bucky sounds peaceful, like he’s floating.

“Good boy, baby.”

“Been a while,” Bucky reminds him. The tone of his voice has Steve guessing that he might be starting to touch himself again. “I miss you talkin’ to me like this.”

“Just two more days, sweetheart, then I’m all yours.”

“I don’t wanna wait that long,” Bucky argues, more of a breathy whine than anything else. Now Steve’s certain that Bucky’s got his fingers wrapped around his dick. “Sir, please, talk me through it. Make me come…”

“Buck…?” Steve croons, deliberately sounding as sweet as possible.

He hears a heavy breath on the other line. “Yes, sir?” Bucky breathes. He sounds so hopeful.

Steve bites his lip, inhaling deeply through his nose. It’d be so tempting just to… _Fuck_ , but no, he can do this. “Little boy…?” he slowly says next.

Bucky sounds even more desperate when he moans again, “ _Yes_ , sir?”

 _He can do this. This was one of the things Bucky said he wanted._ Hardening his voice and willing it to take on a commanding edge, he calmly orders, “Stop touching yourself.”

There’s the quickest stutter of a confused sound, and then complete silence. Steve imagines Bucky’s mouth is gaping open right now; completely unprepared for what Steve just demanded of him. Right when Steve hears him start to exhale what could possibly be the beginnings of a sentence, Steve doesn’t give him the chance.

“Your body’s mine, isn’t it, Buck,” he tells him. “That’s what you like; you’ve been missing that, haven’t you?”

He hears a shaky whimper, and then Bucky breathing out, barely audible, “Yes, sir…”

“Is your body mine, Buck? Say it.”

“My body’s yours… _S-Sir_ , please, I--”

“Then your orgasms belong to me,” Steve explains calmly. “Which means I don’t want you coming again until I say you can. Do you understand?”

“ _Steve…_ ” Bucky croaks desperately.

“Do you understand?” Steve repeats, halfway stern and still halfway gentle.

There are a few tiny whimpers on the other end, and yet Bucky sounds _completely_ blissed-out – all breathy and intoxicated and submissive – when he slurs back slowly, “Yessir… I understand… I’ll be your good boy…”

Steve almost groans. He’s not much better off from where _he’s_ sitting either. He’s not sure it’ll ever stop blowing his mind, just how powerful and fucking _pleasured_ he feels when he does this to Bucky. It’s not even about himself, really… It’s the fact that there’s literally nothing on the goddamn planet sexier than knowing he’s flipped that switch in Bucky; activated that nearly trance-like, euphoric place of comfort and safety that Bucky drifts into the _moment_ Steve goes dominant on him. The fact that Bucky _trusts_ Steve that much, it makes Steve feel a love for Bucky he knows he could _never_ fucking feel for anyone else.

If he’s going to force Bucky not to come again until Steve says so, then the least Steve can do is make the same sacrifice. It’s practically painful not to touch his own rock hard dick right now, just at the way Bucky sounds right now. He could probably blow his load within _seconds_ if he just made Bucky say his name _over_ and _over_ – in that voice, that needy as _fuck_ voice… So desperate for Steve’s mercy, and Steve’s mouth, and Steve’s cock in his ass… _Jesus Christ_ …

Instead, he shoves his free hand between his other arm and his side, pinning it there so he doesn’t give into the urge. Keeping his voice level, he vows, “I’m gonna make it worth it for you, Buck. You stay good for me and I’ll make sure you’re coming so sweetly on Friday. I plan to worship every inch of that perfect body of yours.”

There’s another whimper, it’s trembling so bad. “ _Sir_ ,” Bucky says, and he sounds like he could cry from how desperately he wants it right _now_.

“That’s your hint,” Steve tells him. “Come dressed nice and leave the rest to me. It’s gonna be all about you, sweetheart. You’ll be lucky if you’re able to _walk_ by the time I’m through with you.”

Bucky outright whines.

“Shh,” Steve quickly admonishes. That was a little too loud for his liking.

“I wanna come,” Bucky’s whispering. “Sir, m’so fucking hard, it _hurts_ , I… Please, I need you…”

Those are words meant entirely to pierce Steve’s heart and tug on the strings, and the worst part is, it _works_. Every instinct in Steve that wants nothing more than to be the savior to Bucky’s plight is dying to turn on everything he _just_ said and give Bucky what he wants. But he knows this is part of the game. You can’t play with orgasm denial and not expect a little begging to go along with it. Bucky _wants_ Steve to say no; to not give in at the first sign of Bucky pleading with him and trying to appeal to Steve’s weakness for him.

When this all first started, Steve _wouldn’t_ have been able to say no. He would’ve seen refusing Bucking’s begging as some sort of sign of _hurting_ him. He could’ve never made that connection that denying Bucky what he wants is, in fact, giving Bucky what he _really_ wants – complete and utter submission… The guise of having no choice _but_ to follow Steve’s orders, because he knows better than Bucky, and Bucky’s giving Steve the power to make those decisions for him.

He can make that connection now. He still has a lot of growing to do, but he at least knows what his sweet little boy is _really_ asking of him at the moment.

So he answers with, “No.”

“But--”

“Bucky, that’s enough,” Steve sternly orders. Bucky releases a mixture of a pained whimper and a hot little moan, so he softly croons, “I know, baby – oh, I know it hurts… I’ll make it all better on Friday, okay? You just let me take care of it. I’ll make the pain go away, okay sweetheart?”

“Okay,” Bucky mewls; fucking _sniffles_ a few times and then breathes out, “Thank you, sir, you’re so good to me…”

Steve clucks his tongue and hums under his breath, so goddamn pleased and so fucking turned on at the way Bucky’s behaving for him. “That’s my good little boy,” he praises him again. “Now you get some sleep. And remember – no touching yourself.”

“No touching,” Bucky echoes. “Sir…?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I love you so much.”

Steve isn’t sure whether he’s already halfway asleep or just _that_ soothed by this entire exchange – but either way, Bucky sounds partially under. Steve smiles, feeling warm all over. “I love you too, Buck,” he murmurs.

“G’night,” Bucky says in a whisper.

“Goodnight,” Steve replies gingerly, then ends the call. He imagines being able to pet Bucky’s hair out of his face and cuddle him close until they both peacefully slipped out of consciousness. Looking to the empty space in his bed where Bucky usually sleeps, he can’t help but thank god that he’ll get to do as much of that as he pleases in just a couple short days.

* * *

Steve supposes Bucky could always just _lie_ about not getting himself off. Really, it’s not like Steve would ever be able to know for sure or have Bucky prove it. But when he sees Bucky come walking into class the next day, there’s not a doubt in his mind: Bucky behaved. He’d followed Steve’s command. 

It’s written all over his entire demeanor. For starters, he looks tired and antsy – like someone who might’ve tossed and turned all night because his dick was hard as a rock and he was fighting everything he had not to give it some relief. His hair is even messier than usual, like he decided to forego styling it in any way that morning, unlike his usual routine.

In fact, everything about him sort of looks like the result of someone who overslept and rushed to get out the door in time. Usually, Bucky’s choice of clothing is very stylish; modern, hip, and complimentary to his body type. That’s one thing Bucky’s always owned and kept consistent is his style. Today, however, he wears a simple pair of black jeans, some Vans, and a baggy red sweater.

Of course, Bucky could wear a _burlap sack_ and still be stunning. So his choice of clothes isn’t so much a reflection of him looking any less amazing, but simply a testament to how distracted his mind must be if he _conveniently_ didn’t put as much thought into his appearance today, given the frazzled state Steve left him in the night before.

He looks fucking adorable; sort of like a puppy that hasn’t fully woken up yet, that you just want to cuddle up and rock back to sleep. Whenever he looks at Steve throughout class, his eyes are just the tiniest bit unfocused. Steve doesn’t miss the way he always seems to fidget in his seat _just a tad_ as soon as Steve averts his gaze away. The rest of the time, if he’s _not_ looking at Steve, he’s zoning out and staring off somewhere.

Steve can only imagine what’s going through Bucky’s head and what he keeps daydreaming about. Their interactions in the school environment – especially over the last couple months – have always been appropriate and limited at best. That means, no more close calls, or flirting (no matter how subtle) if there’s anyone else around. It means Bucky not giving Steve the fuck-me eyes, or Steve being careful that he isn’t seen interacting with Bucky _too_ much outside of class hours, while still in the building. They’re very careful, they make sure of it.

What he _does_ have in his favor, luckily, is the position of power he _does_ have – the one that comes automatically from simply being Bucky’s teacher. So when he notices Bucky staring off for about the tenth time that period and he casually says, “Mr. Barnes, the lesson’s going on at the _front_ of the class,” he’s still able to slip that slightly authoritative tone in there without it seeming out of the norm.

But _Bucky_ still knows intrinsically that Steve’s tone has a far deeper meaning behind it.

Immediately, he’s straightening, eyes snapping to Steve. Steve keeps the tiny smile on his lips professional – his facial features unassuming; no different than how he’d talk to any other student in the same position – and adds, “Please pay attention.”

A couple of Bucky’s buddies sitting around him duck their heads and try to hide their snickering, amused that their friend just got busted in class. Bucky, however, just gets a tired smile of his own and nods. “Yes, sir,” he quietly replies, picking up his pen and resting his hands on his opened binder. No one else catches on to that slightly _satiated_ undertone in Bucky’s voice. No one else picks up on _why_ Bucky so easily followed the order. And certainly no one else thinks twice about Bucky’s choice of words.

But Steve does, and in his head he can’t help but think, _Oh, well played_. As if perfectly timed, as Bucky shuffles a little in his seat, the loose collar of his sweater shifts, revealing just a fraction more of the his smooth, unblemished collar bones. Steve wants to bite them. When he goes home that night, he knows he won’t be able to resist thinking about pinning Bucky down on that very desk and making him writhe from how long Steve would spend sucking dark purple hickies onto those clavicles.

None of this registers on his face, of course, and the moment is brief. The whole exchange only lasts a couple seconds, and then Steve’s saying, “Good,” and turning back to the board, carrying on with the class discussion as if he’d never been interrupted.

‘Good _boy_ ’, is the unspoken ending to that sentence. He knows Bucky hears it regardless, and Steve would be lying if he said that it doesn’t please him to know that now Bucky gets to let that slowly drive him crazy for the rest of the afternoon.

 

\---

 

It’s nerve-wracking (and also really fucking exhilarating), but Steve drives out to Purple Passion after work. He’s had the address on him for weeks, after doing some research on the web and checking out what sort of S&M shops New York had to offer. It’s not like Steve’s never been in a sex shop before. He’s just never been to one that – based off the photos – seems to have so much _leather_ … _Toys_ … focusing heavily on _BDSM-type stuff_. If the ones he’d been inside in the past _had_ , then he either walked straight past them or he doesn’t remember. 

Bucky’s texting him (of course he’s texting him; that seemed to be the first thing he did the second he got out of class – texting Steve to tell him how cruel he is and how much Bucky hates him, _and how badly he needs Steve’s dick in his ass_ ), but Steve chooses not to tell him about this little trip. He’d rather it be a surprise.

At first, he’s a little paranoid; perhaps even laughably so. He glances around before heading in, as if half-expecting someone he knows to spot him from the other side of the street. It’s not that Steve finds anything shameful about going into a place like this. It’s just that he’s always been incredibly private about his sex life. Then throw in the fact that this is the first kind of relationship he’s ever had that even _somewhat_ borders into this territory, as well as him still learning the ropes and getting familiarized and comfortable with it himself, and… yeah, he’s even _more_ private about it now. Especially since all of his friends are under the impression that he’s still single.

But coming here and physically taking this step is important to him. He’s as discreet as he can be, because of course, his number one priority is still keeping Bucky and their relationship safe. In theory, he could’ve simply purchased these sorts of things online. But you can never fully trust that you’ll get your money’s worth when all you have to go by are pictures and descriptions. Steve needs to be able to see everything for himself – compare, hold them in his hands, get a _real_ idea of what each toy is like and pick the ones he deems perfect. He’s never bought any of this stuff before – never even _entertained_ the idea, really – and so if he’s making this decision, he can only fully embrace it by doing it himself.

It’s slightly overwhelming when he first enters the shop and is met with all the stuff inside; walls and wracks and displays full of outfits, bondage materials, punishment props, and the like. For a few seconds, Steve stands by the door feeling completely out of his depth – but also one-hundred percent intrigued. He isn’t sure where to start, but this is like an adventure for him. He wishes he could go to places like this with Bucky and they could shop for things to buy together. He could only imagine how erotic that alone would be for them… Browsing through the _selections_ available for them and excitedly picking out some stuff they’d want to try most.

Unfortunately, Bucky probably isn’t even old enough to come into this store, so Steve has to make do and pick some things all on his own. He tells himself he’ll start off small; nothing too extreme or kinky, but just things that could be considered basic. If Bucky doesn’t want to try it, then they don’t have to. That could at least open up the door to them talking a bit more about it and maybe making a list of things Steve could go back and get.

Slowly, he starts making his way around. The costumes are a little too out there for him, but he still finds himself lingering so he can take a look. When he passes the section stocked with anal plugs, vibrators, dildos, and beads, he makes his first real pit stop so he can check over and compare a bunch of them. Bucky seemed to be particularly interested in these kinds of things, and the longer Steve sorts through them and holds them in his hands, the more he wants to see what they’d look like in Bucky’s body. Before he knows it, his cock is filling with blood and hardening against his thigh, and Steve has to look around – cheeks quickly burning – to make sure no one’s nearby to see it.

Luckily there are only a couple other people in the shop at this time of day, so for now he’s in the clear. Glancing back down at the toys, he makes a mental list of which ones he wants to get, and then carries on to keep looking around. There are riding crops and flogs and whips and all sorts of things made out of more and more leather. They’re the types of toys that can tend to make marks, though, so Steve doesn’t think he’ll purchase any of _those_ – at least until he can talk about them with Bucky first.

They never discussed things like _whipping_ or _paddling_ , and Steve’s not sure if _he’s_ even ready for something like that, let alone Bucky. But admittedly, curiosity has him dragging his fingers over the leather… Takes in the smell… Brushes his fingers through the lashes of a few of the floggers; feels the roundness of the ones that have little beads on the ends… And it’s not difficult to imagine using these things on Bucky, or the faces and sounds his sweet little boy would make, or how beautiful the marks Steve would leave on him would be.

He realizes that he’s – very slowly – coming around to the idea of stuff like this. He might not be ready to jump head-first into it anytime _soon_ , and of course, he’d never push to try something Bucky wasn’t comfortable with. But if _Bucky_ ever wanted to try any of these things… Steve thinks he could be down with it eventually.

Who knows… maybe one day Bucky _will_ want to start calling Steve his Dom. Maybe Steve will want to call Bucky his sub just as badly. Maybe they won’t. What he _likes_ about this feeling is that it’s freeing. For the first time since all this started, Steve feels a little more in his element with this side of himself. He thinks he might be growing a lot more comfortable with it, so long as they keep taking things at a pace that’s right by them.

Not everything in the shop appeals to Steve, but he takes his time perusing the items all the same. When he gets to the section that sells a variety of collars, he stops. He actually feels himself fall short of breath because… he remembers how strongly Bucky had reacted to the mere suggestion that Steve buy him one of these. There are a bunch of different kinds – mostly, again, in leather, but some of different colors, some with spikes, or designs etched into them, or some completely bare and simple.

His eyes fall upon each one and he tries to imagine what Bucky would look like wearing each of them. They’re gorgeous. He probably would’ve never seen them that way before, but _now_ … Mostly, he just pictures how Bucky would react to being given one, and it sets his heart racing. For whatever reason, he keeps going back to the black leather one. There’s nothing fancy about it – just a straight, smooth design with a small metal half-circle in the center, a tag dangling from it in the front. But the hue is jet black like the night, and for whatever reason it just _screams_ ‘Bucky’. Of all the collars he sees, this is the one that Steve knows without doubt would look the best on him.

Taking it into his hands, he turns it over and notices that there’s also a small metal tag snugly fit within the leather, at the back of the collar. It’d sit right over Bucky’s nape. Steve smirks to himself, starting to get hard again as the gears in his head spin. He knows exactly what he wants engraved onto there.

When he eventually leaves the shop, he’s got one medium-sized bag in hand. A vibrator, a dildo, an anal plug, beads, a cock ring, bondage tape, and a simple set of bedpost restraints (nothing fancy) fill its contents. On the very top of the pile is the beautiful little collar for Bucky; tags engraved perfectly, with the exact words Steve knows Bucky will fall apart for.

* * *

Bucky’s even _more_ restless when Friday actually arrives. It didn’t surprise Steve that Bucky _begged_ and _begged_ him the night before to let him jerk off. He almost gave in, but he’s proud of himself for having stuck to the plan. Their entire conversation had been through text – except for right at the end, when Steve was getting the feeling like Bucky was seconds away from defying him. Then he surprised Bucky by asking him first if he was alone, then promptly calling him up after Bucky confirmed that he was, so he could get right to the point and firmly order, “Don’t you _dare_ think of making yourself come, little boy,” before Bucky could even say hello. 

Bucky had just moaned helplessly and attempted to plead with him, but Steve would have none of that. He forced his tone to become even steelier and repeated Bucky’s command, followed strategically by a little praise, because he knows how Bucky operates – _you wanna be good for me, don’t you baby? You wanna save all that for me so I can swallow it all and make you feel good, don’t you…_

“Yes…” Bucky had whimpered.

“Then you just have to wait one more night. Tomorrow I’m all yours. I promise I’ll make it up to you, so if you’re good for me and you do as I say.”

“I want it,” the voice on the other line shakily replied. “I’ll be good for you, I swear.”

“No arguing with me when I tell you what I want?”

“N-No, sir…”

“That’s my good little boy.”

Come Friday, though, Bucky _does_ try a few last-ditch efforts to appeal to Steve’s humanity. Because he knows Steve’s spending his lunch hour in the classroom, grading tests, Bucky texts him a few times and tries to beg again in a more roundabout, _subtle_ way. Steve’s answer doesn’t change. Bucky’s last text before class starts is: **_Fuck!!!!!_**

Steve replies with, **_By the end of the night, yes._** When Bucky comes into class, his lips are pursed like he’s trying not to laugh. Very quickly, when his gaze meets Steve’s, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but then takes his seat and focuses on pulling out his books. Steve smiles to himself and begins class a few minutes later by handing everyone their tests back before getting into the day’s lesson. He pretends not to notice how badly Bucky’s knee keeps bouncing up and down the entire time.

 

\---

 

It’s so important to Steve that the night goes exactly as planned. Not for his own sake, but because he’s put a lot of effort into it and he wants Bucky to get to enjoy it all. Because the fact is, Steve Rogers is in fact a hopeless romantic. Peggy had been absolutely right, and he knows it, too. All these months, he’s _wanted_ to dote on Bucky and properly take the time to do these sorts of nice things for him, but up until recently, he never believed he could. He always thought that it’d be taking things a step too far – making things too serious, when he believed it could never be like that for them. 

He’s practically giddy with excitement that now he can start spoiling Bucky rotten, even if only in a limited way for the time being. He’s always been the kind of person to get pleasure out of making his partner happy. But given the nature of his and Bucky’s relationship in general, that sense of personal gratification at Bucky’s happiness is intensified by about a thousand percent.

He specifically picked six p.m. for a reason, because he needed the time to get everything ready and make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything at the last minute. Bucky’s told his parents that a bunch of his friends are having a gaming night over at their buddy Jim’s place, and with the promise to be back home no later than two p.m. the following day (as well as the promise – like always – to be good, be safe, and have fun), he rings Steve’s doorbell _right_ on time and not a minute later. Steve’s just finishing lighting the candles standing on the dining room table when he hears it. Quickly shutting off the lights so the dining room is filled with nothing but the soft glow of the candles, he heads to the front door to greet him.

Opening it, Steve can’t help but be a _little_ surprised – and very pleased – that even amidst Bucky’s sexual frustration over the last two days, he still remembered Steve’s request that he dress nice. He has on a pair of dress pants, black shoes, and a forest green dress shirt, buttoned up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair is styled a little more carefully than it has been the last couple days, and the second he lays his eyes on Steve, he beams.

“Wow!” Bucky laughs, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder. Steve knows he’s got the clothes he left home with in there. He can picture Bucky stopping off at a place like McDonalds along the way so he could change into what he’s wearing now. “Now I feel a little under-dressed,” Bucky jokes – but his eyes are absolutely sparkling.

Steve, by contrast, has a full suit on. He knows it might be cheesy but he doesn’t care. If he were really able to take Bucky out on a proper date, he’d pick a five-star restaurant and would be wearing the exact same thing. The point of all this is to try and give Bucky the same sort of experience while making do with what they have. He thinks that Bucky looks phenomenal just the way he is, and he tells him so before inviting him inside. After taking Bucky’s backpack for him and patiently waiting while the brunet removes his shoes, Bucky rubs his hands together and says, “It smells fuckin’ delicious in here. So… what exactly are we doing?”

“Well first, you’re going to accompany me to dinner,” Steve says, stepping by his side and hooking his arm out. Bucky grins, expression excited and curious, and loops his own arm through his. “Now, I’m not the _best_ chef in the world,” Steve reminds him as he guides him towards the dining room, “so this _might_ not have turned out the way I wanted. I think it still looks good, though.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky exhales, his grin growing the moment he sees the display Steve’s set out for them; the end of his sentence filled with an amazed sort of chuckle. “Steve… I…”

Steve watches Bucky’s face with a tiny, adoring smile of his own. He’d looked up the recipe online to try and make some of Bucky’s favorite dishes. They’ve never actually eaten them together, nor has Steve ever attempted to cook them, but he remembers Bucky mentioning them before. On the plates already are the appetizers he’d just pulled from the oven not too long before Bucky showed up: mini cornbread crab cakes, with lemon-caper sauce. He’d tried to be fancy like those professionals on the cooking shows, and make the plates look as aesthetically pleasing as possible. He’s not sure whether he actually did a good job of that or not, but from an amateur’s perspective he thinks he did alright.

He bought a new silk tablecloth just for the occasion, and some of the nicest red and white candles he could find. Because it’s a special night, there’s a small glass of red wine with their plates, but then Steve’s stocked up the fridge with some of Bucky’s favorite soft drinks so they can have some of those afterwards if they want. In the oven, ready to serve but being kept warm, is the main course – stuffed leg of lamb with balsamic-fig-basil sauce – for whenever they’re ready to have it.

Bucky’s still awing over the table, but when he steps forward and goes to sit down, Steve quickly says, “Wait, hold on,” and pulls Bucky’s chair out for him. Regarding him with amusement, Bucky exhales another little chuckle like he just can’t _believe_ how corny and sweet Steve’s being right now.

He bites his bottom lip, gives Steve his shy little smile, and murmurs, “Thank you,” before sitting down. Steve goes to leave the room and Bucky calls after him, “Aren’t you gonna sit down, too?”

“Just make yourself comfortable and gimme _one_ second,” Steve replies, heading into the kitchen. As he starts to come back out, he says, “Don’t turn around, okay?”

“Okaaaay,” Bucky answers, sounding more and more amused.

Steve carefully pulls a singular rose from the bouquet and then softly instructs, “Close your eyes.”

“Okay…”

“Are they closed?”

“They’re closed,” Bucky laughs. “What’re you doin’?”

Steve smiles to himself and walks up behind Bucky. Gripping the rose near the top of the stem, he brushes it slowly across the back of Bucky’s neck. Immediately, Bucky gives a tiny jolt and then shivers, exhaling a soft breath. Steve does it again, purposely making the feather-like touch even gentler this time, and Bucky lets his head fall forward a little. Leaning in, Steve swipes the tips of the petals beneath Bucky’s hairline, then replaces it with his lips, kissing him once.

Feeling Steve there now, Bucky moans quietly and lifts his hand to palm the back of Steve’s head. Turning, eyes closed, he clumsily finds Steve’s mouth and kisses him, deep and long; passionate but slow. “I missed you,” Bucky breathes.

“I missed you too,” Steve replies against his lips. They open their eyes to look at each other, and at that moment, Steve leans away a bit so he can lift the bouquet of flowers and Bucky can see them.

The smile Bucky gets is so big and brilliant that it gets him chuckling, eyes crinkling in that way Steve loves so much. “Oh my god,” he giggles again, taking the roses and cradling them close while he inhales their scent. He’s reacting like he can’t believe Steve’s _still_ showering him with surprises.

The best part is that this isn’t even the tip of the iceberg.

“Here, let’s put them in some water,” Steve suggests, going back into the kitchen to retrieve an empty vase. Filling it up and dumping in a bit of the powder from the little packet that the bouquet came with, Steve takes them from Bucky and arranges them in the vase. While they finally sit and eat their first course, they stand proudly on the table, the colors illuminated by the dim light of the candles.

They talk about how their week has been, even though there’s not much to tell given that they’ve still spoken every day, especially since they haven’t been able to get together. Bucky thanks him over and over for the dinner and flowers. Steve just gives him an unassuming smile each time and reminds him that the night isn’t over yet.

It’s during the main course when Bucky starts peering over at him and shifting around in his seat. In a real casual way, Steve feels Bucky inch his foot closer and closer, until he’s rubbing it over Steve’s. Steve pretends not to read any deeper into the action and simply keeps up their conversation.

Then Bucky gives him a smile and moves his chair a bit closer. A minute or two later and he’s shuffling a couple more inches. By the time they’re almost finished eating, he might as well be sitting in Steve’s lap, his chair is so close. He places his left hand on Steve’s right knee. Steve’s not an idiot, but he _is_ having fun playing this little game of theirs, so he doesn’t draw any attention to it at first.

When Bucky subtly tries to drag his hand _up_ Steve’s thigh, though, Steve keeps chewing on the food he has in his mouth and closes his fingers around Bucky’s wrist. His facial features calm and unchanging, he moves Bucky’s hand _off_ of him and places it on Bucky’s own leg. Then he’s letting go and resting his forearm on the edge of the table again.

Next to him, Bucky releases a small huff. His hand goes right back onto Steve’s leg again. Steve moves it off a second time. This time, Bucky makes a sound that’s a mixture of a chuckle and a frustrated whine and starts saying, “C’mon, Steve--”

“We’re eating, Buck; that’s not very polite,” Steve replies, still calm and only _feigning_ reproach. There’s a hint of a smirk turning up one corner of his mouth.

Trying to get his way, Bucky lifts that left hand of his and brushes the tips of his fingers over the hair above Steve’s ear. Leaning in, he drags his nose softly along the curve of Steve’s neck and murmurs, “C’mon Stevie, I’ve been so good. I did everything you asked for.” His lips hover in front of Steve’s ear and he whispers, “I’ll let you do anythin’ you want to me… You want me to beg? I’ll beg. Please, c’mon… I want you so bad…”

Steve takes his time finishing the bite he has in his mouth. Swallowing, he lower his cutlery and picks up his napkin. He wipes his mouth, purposely drawing it out and making Bucky wait, before re-folding it neatly and setting it back down on the table. Turning towards Bucky a little, he takes Bucky’s face in his hands and leans in.

Bucky inhales deeply and moans as soon as Steve’s pressing their lips together in a kiss. Steve can feel his dick – erect and desperate – pulsing in the crotch of his pants, and it’s taking everything he has inside to maintain his role in this game and _not_ rip Bucky’s clothes off and pound into him right there on the floor.

Instead, he keeps the kiss chaste, choosing to conveniently end it the moment Bucky tries to part his lips to deepen it. Dragging his mouth up Bucky’s teasingly, his bottom lip catching on Bucky’s top one for split second, he whispers, “No.”

Bucky opens his eyes and stares back into his. His pupils are so enormous that there’s barely any trace of blueish-grey left to speak of anymore. The room may be dim, but Steve can tell that his little boy’s cheeks are already beginning to flush, and _fuck_ , Bucky looks unnaturally breathtaking by candlelight. His lips part but no sound comes out. Steve can only guess how dilated his own pupils are; that his eyes are probably slightly glazed with lust, just like Bucky’s.

The smile he gives Bucky is little but it’s _filthy_ , and his voice drops even lower when he continues, “I made this nice meal for you. Don’t you want it?”

“I want it,” Bucky breathes, not talking about the food at all. Steve’s still holding onto either side of his face, and right on cue, his ‘tell’ is kicking in. He’s starting to tremble in his seat.

“Aren’t you grateful for what I did for you, little boy?” Steve softly asks next.

Bucky’s eyes flutter shut at the pet name, and licking his lips, he nods with a little affirmative mewl.

“And do you know _why_ I’m doing all this for you?”

Bucky’s grinding his ass down into the chair like he can’t even control himself. “Why?” he asks breathlessly, not even a second after Steve’s finished talking.

“Because I love you,” Steve tells him. “Tell me you love me, too.” Bucky opens his eyes and tries to lean forward to kiss him again, but Steve tightens his grip and forces him to still. “With words,” he clarifies, voice still gentle. “Do you love me?”

“I love you,” Bucky promises him. “I love you so much, Steve, _sir_ , I love you…”

Steve’s so fucking turned on right now. It’s like he can actually _see_ the change in Bucky’s expression, the longer Steve’s treating him like this and talking to him with that controlling, protective authority Bucky craves. This is Bucky’s drug, and he’s been jonesing for nearly a week – _starving_ for it; _dying_ to get his hands on it.

And Steve gets it, because Bucky’s _reaction_ , his submissiveness… It’s Steve’s own. They’re both finally getting their fix.

So he croons, “I know you do, baby. I know you do. And you know why else I’m doing this for you?” Bucky shakes his head, as much as he can in Steve’s grasp. So Steve tells him, “Because you deserve it. Because this is what I should’ve been giving you all along.”

Bucky whimpers; is white-knuckling the sides of the chair and trying to press his ass as hard against it as humanly possible.

“This is what it means to be mine,” Steve explains. “It means I get to worship the ground you walk on, and you’re gonna let me. You let me kiss your feet if I feel like it, or hold you for a long as I want, or hear me tell you I love you ‘till you’re sick of it. You’re giving me the privilege to cherish you more than anything else I could ever love in this world. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Bucky quickly says, desperate and probably only half-listening. “Please, Steve… Sir, I… _Please_ …”

“Shh, I got you,” Steve whispers, kissing his lips; just once, real gentle. Bucky calms into it a sliver. Stroking Bucky’s cheekbones with his thumbs, Steve explains to him, pausing here and there to kiss around Bucky’s face, “I promised you that I’d take care of you, and I’m going to do that, baby. But I need you to trust me first. Can you trust me, Bucky?” Bucky eagerly nods as much as he can, making Steve smile. “Good, that’s good, baby,” Steve murmurs; continues, “Here’s what we’re gonna do: we’re gonna finish our meal and then I’m going to do the dishes quickly--”

“I can do them,” Bucky interrupts.

“You most certainly will _not_.”

“Then let me help,” Bucky insists, forcing his eyes to regain a bit of clarity so he can focus them on Steve’s. “It’ll be quicker with two.”

“You can keep me company if you want to stay near me,” Steve compromises, “but you’re not going anywhere near those dishes. You’re mine to look after tonight, okay?”

It’s the best offer Bucky’s going to get and he seems to recognize it. His lips press together, like he’s debating on arguing, but then he gets a tiny smile and sighs with a nod. “Okay, fine,” he relents. “ _Then_ can we go upstairs?”

“Nope,” Steve replies, smiling even bigger at the indignant look that puts on Bucky’s face. Chuckling, he kisses the tip of Bucky’s nose and says, “We have a movie to catch first.”

“Can’t we watch it _after_?” Bucky whines.

There’s a moment’s pause there, lingering between them as Bucky’s words sink in. Steve knows what Bucky’s doing – he’s purposely back-talking; being bratty. Trying to see if he can break Steve. He can tell by the hidden gleam in Bucky’s eyes, by the underlying impish nature of the smile tugging up one corner of his mouth. He’s testing Steve. He wants to see if Steve’s comfortable yet with assuming his role in the relationship without as much doubt or hesitancy.

So Steve hardens his jaw – eyes still burning with arousal – and slips his hand to the back of Bucky’s neck. Without warning, he grips Bucky’s nape tightly; not rough or painful, but asserting his territory… Making Bucky feel small, helpless, and _secured_ , all in the ways he likes best. At the same time, his expression grows stern, leaving Bucky with no room to argue.

“I’m adding five spankings to the list of things I plan to do to you,” Steve informs him admonishingly.

Bucky moans, breathing out the word _fuck_ and trying to then reach out and run his hands up Steve’s thighs again. They’re instantly gathered into Steve’s hands so he can yank them away. Despite the mood, Bucky gets a small, playful smirk and tries to overpower Steve by putting up a minor struggle to free his hands. Steve can’t help it – he chuckles and goes along with it, though he doesn’t let go of Bucky’s wrists. Eventually, Bucky gives up and lets out an over-exaggerated sigh.

“Okay, _fine_ ,” he says. “Food, dishes, movie, and _then_ upstairs… right?”

“If you’re good.”

Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek briefly, before sighing with a nod. “Yes sir,” he says, finally giving in. Steve praises him, planting a kiss to his forehead, and then together they manage to finish their meals with no more incidents. This time, when Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s leg, he doesn’t make to move it or try anything sneaky. Steve threads their fingers together and they wind up laughing, trying their best to cut the meat and get through the last few bites with the use of only one hand.

Before Steve starts in on the dishes, he offers Bucky a little hand-made menu he’d drawn up, listing three different dessert options. “I got the ingredients for all of them,” he explains, “so pick whichever one you want and we’ll have it as a late-night treat later.”

Eyes bright and wide, Bucky scans the menu excitedly, then jokingly asks, “Can I pick ‘em all?”

“If you want,” Steve replies.

“Wait, seriously?”

The blond shrugs. “Why not? Gonna have to make them eventually so the stuff doesn’t go to waste, right? If you want all three, I’ll make all three.”

“You’re insane,” Bucky murmurs, shaking his head. But he’s still looking over his options with that slightly amazed smile on his lips. Steve knows Bucky’s feeling spoiled right about now, and the thought makes him proud; warm inside.

In the end, despite having the option for all three, Bucky decides on the fudge-walnut brownies. Steve takes out the non-perishable ingredients and sets them aside on the counter space next to the stove for later. After clearing the table and putting the candles away, Bucky sits on the counter and keeps Steve company while the dishes get done.

There are only a _few_ instances where Steve turns to find Bucky with a drying towel in hand, trying to help out without Steve catching him. Steve reacts the same way each time: he calmly takes the things from Bucky’s hands, while Bucky laughs and says something like, “Aww, I almost got away with it this time!” Steve will give him a tiny smile, shake his head, and answer, “No you didn’t,” before pinching Bucky’s hip and making the brunet jolt. Instantly, it turns that laughter into a tiny yelp, which melts quickly into a shaky breath; biting his bottom lip, closing his eyes, and smiling with pleasure while he squirms a bit from the sting in his skin.  

Every time, Steve then frames Bucky’s face in his hands and kisses him breathless. _Then_ Bucky’s going pliant against his lips and sighing blissfully. For a few minutes afterwards, he forgets about trying to help, in favor of watching Steve adoringly. By the third time, he seems to get with the program because he doesn’t make to touch the towel again; just obediently sits where he is and preens to himself whenever Steve compliments him for listening so well.

After the last dish is dried up and put away, Steve goes into the living room to set up the couch with pillows and a blanket while Bucky’s using the washroom. When he comes back out, Steve has his suit jacket off and is waiting for him with a grin. His hands are held out in front of him, offering out a bunch of hand-made ‘ticket stubs’ for Bucky’s choosing. A bunch of new movies came out on Blu-ray earlier that week, and Steve picked up five of them (each of them being something he knew Bucky either wanted to see, or that Steve trusts he’d like, given Bucky’s tastes).

Bucky’s always _horribly_ indecisive when it comes to picking what movie to watch, which is usually why Steve’s the one who does it. It takes him almost ten minutes just to narrow it down between two, and then another five of going back and forth before Steve reminds him that he _does_ own the other four now. “We’ll eventually wind up watching them all anyways, if you want to,” he chuckles. It seems to make Bucky’s decision a bit easier, and _finally_ , he decides on the thriller, _The Barber._

It’s probably completely unnecessary, but Steve makes a point to take the ticket, rip it, and then hand it back over to Bucky anyways. For a second, Bucky just stares at the stub in his hand with a blank expression, but then he’s barking out a laugh and lovingly saying, “You’re _such_ a fuckin’ dork, oh my god,” as he goes to sit down on the couch. Steve makes them a big bowl of popcorn and places it on the coffee table, along with two bottles of Coke and a pack of Twizzlers (Bucky’s favorite). Once all the lights are off and the disk is set up, Steve gets comfortable with Bucky under the blanket and presses play.

Bucky’s peering over at him. “Hey Steve?”

“Mm?”

A soft, glowing smile turns up one corner of Bucky’s mouth. “This is the best date I’ve ever had,” he says, grey eyes filled with love and such naked esteem. “Thank you.”

Steve wraps his arm around Bucky and pulls him in close. Slipping his index finger beneath Bucky’s chin, Steve tilts his face up and kisses him. “I’m glad you’re happy, baby,” he replies. He gives Bucky’s mouth one more innocent kiss before looking back to the TV and tugging Bucky tighter to him. Bucky adjusts so he’s partially curled onto Steve’s lap, and then rests his head on Steve’s shoulder; forehead pressing to Steve’s neck, in that favorite little safe zone Bucky has. Steve grabs the bowl of popcorn and then they watch the movie, wrapped up in each other’s limbs while Steve rubs Bucky’s arm or pets his hair.

About halfway through the movie, Steve starts casually feeding Bucky popcorn while they both continue to watch. He’ll absentmindedly pluck up a few kernels, eat one or two, then lower his hand and bring what’s remaining to Bucky’s mouth. Every time, Bucky automatically parts his lips – also partially distracted by the film – and lets Steve feed him; the actions between them fluid and effortless, like they’re second-nature.

Steve isn’t completely sure at _what_ point the air shifts. They’re still cuddled up under the blanket, but the bowl of popcorn has been off to Steve’s left for a while now, so Bucky could drape his leg over Steve’s knee and wrap his arm around the blond’s waist. Somewhere between the climax of the movie approaching and Steve continuing to feed Bucky popcorn, Bucky’s interest in the movie vanishes.

Because gradually – whenever Steve brings his fingers to Bucky’s mouth – instead of just letting it tip open so Steve can lightly push the popped kernel between his lips, Bucky will quickly chew and swallow, only to then start licking the tips of Steve’s fingers to clean the salt and butter away. Next thing Steve knows, Bucky’s closing his eyes and tilting his head forward; wrapping his lips around Steve’s index and middle fingers and suckling on them slowly.

The gentle drag of Bucky’s soft tongue going _back_ and _forth_ across the pads of his fingers gets Steve glancing down so he can watch Bucky’s beautiful face while he does it. _Fuck_ , his self-restraint starts draining away. He’s been denying himself just as much as Bucky has the last couple days. He doesn’t think he has it in him to turn Bucky down at this point. The sudden kneading over his crotch when Bucky releases a placated little sigh – the sound slightly muffled around Steve’s fingers – and starts rubbing his palm over Steve’s dick gets Steve stuttering over a grunt, baby blues falling closed.

By the time the movie’s finishing, they’re both making out and moaning into each other’s mouths; Bucky, still teasing Steve from over his dress pants and Steve, now doing the same to Bucky. They grope each other and make the other harder and harder from over their clothes, like a couple of horny pre-pubescents. By the time the _credits_ are finished rolling, the disk goes back to the main menu, and they _still_ don’t notice for another good twenty minutes.

Steve manages to get Bucky’s belt open and his fly down with just the one hand. He shoves his hand down those pants and into Bucky’s boxer briefs; starts playing with his cock, now skin-on-skin. Bucky’s own rhythm slows against Steve’s crotch and Bucky starts moaning louder, shakier, slightly _startled_ -sounding… _Ah! A-Ahhh_ … More breath than sound, but already completely desperate in its pitch. He bites Steve’s bottom lip and then smothers his face against Steve’s neck, doing nothing more than shaking and gasping; moaning hotly and going brain dead at _finally_ getting some relief on his dick.

“What do you want, Buck?” Steve asks in a husk.

“Fuck me, _oh god_ – _S-Steve_ , please, fuck me. _Fuck_ me,” Bucky begs. Clutching onto the other side of Steve’s neck to steady himself, he starts trying to thrust back against Steve’s hand.

Steve hums, low and guttural. “Down here, or upstairs?”

“I don’t care, I don’t fuckin’ care – _anywhere_ , please, I…” Bucky pants a few ragged breaths and then swallows noisily. “Bend me over the table, fuck me on the floor; right here on the couch, on the stairs, _I don’t care, sir,_ just please – _oh, oh fuck_ …”

“Upstairs,” Steve decides, withdrawing his hand from Bucky’s pants. He’s met with a noise of protest, one that sounds pained, and Steve can’t help but wonder how close Bucky might’ve already been just from that alone. There’s the tiniest pang of guilt in Steve’s chest at Bucky’s reaction and he considers foregoing his entire plan so he can just get Bucky off now and stop the torture.

 _But this was one of the things Bucky wanted to try_. So Steve sticks to his guns.

“I wanna try something with you, but I wanna be upstairs first,” he says. “Sooner we get up there, the sooner you get my hands back. And my mouth,” he deliberately adds. “How’s that sound?”

Bucky swallows again, hard. Taking a few labored breaths through his nose, he licks his lips and nods. “Okay,” he whispers.

“Okay.” Steve smiles reassuringly. “C’mon.”

He lets Bucky lead the way – who practically _runs_ upstairs – so he can grab one of the roses from the bouquet and bring it up to his bedroom with him. Bucky’s waiting impatiently and tries to nearly tackle Steve when the older man walks into the room, but Steve only lets Bucky kiss him for a few seconds before he’s palming his shoulders and gently pushing him away.

“Get on the bed,” Steve instructs him. “Take off your clothes, _slowly_. Let me watch you. Okay?”

“Yes, sir…”

Crawling onto the bed, Bucky straightens up onto his knees and starts by pulling the rest of his dress shirt from the waistline of his pants. Looking up at Steve from beneath his long lashes, he lifts his hands to the collar and starts popping open each button on his shirt. He’s a good boy, so he follows the rules and sticks to a slow pace, despite how badly his hands are shaking from trying to contain himself. Steve sets the lone rose down onto his dresser and then leans against it so he can enjoy the show.

He’s reminded of what Bucky had told him before, about being trained as a dancer growing up. This is the first time Steve feels like he’s _really_ getting a glimpse of that in all its glory. It’s in the way Bucky moves; knows how to twist and display his body in all the right ways… Capable of retaining the right amount of control, even during these circumstances. When all of the buttons are undone, he arches his back and _slowly_ drags the shirt from his shoulders… Off his back… Down his arms. Staying silent – lips swollen from kissing, and eyes darkened with arousal, and each exhale coming out shallower and shallower – Bucky holds out his arm over the edge of the bed and drops the shirt to the floor, his eyes still on Steve the entire time.

Steve’s working hard to keep his exterior controlled, but he’s breathing heavier too, and the way he’s looking at Bucky like he wants to devour him only fuels Bucky’s movements. It’s about the only time all evening that Steve will _let_ Bucky take some control over the situation and be a tease, because he’s enjoying the sight far too much to stop him. The way Bucky’s cock looks when Bucky coyly lowers his clothes enough to let it come bobbing out makes Steve feel lightheaded. When Bucky slowly shuffles around so he can slide his pants and underwear down his ass and then bend forward so it’s arching up into the air for Steve’s pleasure gets Steve salivating.

It all reminds him of the first time Bucky stripped for him, way back when this all started. Bucky had been so calm and in control; so comfortable in his own skin, and that was one of the reasons Steve found him so sexy, even before he felt _allowed_ to see him in that way. It blows his mind, how long ago that way – how it _feels_ like it’s been even longer. They’ve come so far since that evening on his couch, when Bucky Barnes seduced Steve Rogers into what was originally only supposed to be a meaningless fuck.

Remembering that night and comparing it to where they are now fills Steve with as much love and reverence for Bucky as it fills him with desire. Bucky gets down to nothing but his socks. Sprawled on his back, he glances down as he peels them off and then lazily tosses them to the floor. Finally completely naked, he bites his lip and drags his gaze back up to Steve, purposely arching his back while he shifts on the mattress; elongating his perfect, lean limbs and letting Steve watch the way the abs on his stomach stretch and flex with every movement.

Now Steve’s mouth feels bone dry.

“You? Are _so_ beautiful…” Steve tells him, approaching the bed. Bucky smiles shyly – his cock twitching from the praise, looking so neglected and in need of Steve’s mouth – and sits up. Rising back onto his knees, he reaches out when Steve gets to the side of the mattress. Hands resting on Steve’s hips, Steve cradles Bucky’s head and kisses him. Against his lips, Bucky sighs happily.

“Undress me,” Steve mutters, and Bucky nods. Steve watches his face attentively while Bucky carefully works Steve’s tie loose, slipping it off before opening Steve’s shirt and working it off Steve’s arms. Steve takes over after Bucky gets his belt out of its buckle, finishing the job until he’s just as naked as Bucky is.

Bucky seems to assume that this means the waiting is over. The moment Steve finishes toeing off his socks and re-meeting his eyes, he’s making to wrap his arms around Steve’s neck and pull him onto the bed. To his surprise, Steve presses his hand flush to Bucky’s chest and resists.

“Lie down,” he orders, voice tender.

Not needing to be told twice, Bucky doesn’t even blink as he quickly lowers himself and sprawls out on his back. Steve crawls over him and licks a line from Bucky’s navel up to his nipples. Pausing to close his lips over one and suck on it lightly, he exhales a rush of hot air against Bucky’s skin when the brunet whimpers and fists his hands into Steve’s hair. Pulling away, Steve stares up at Bucky with a dark expression and asks, “I’m gonna tell you what I wanna try, and if you don’t want to do it, just tell me and we won’t do it, okay?”

Now Bucky looks about _twice_ as turned on, but also a little confused. Nevertheless, he nods. “Okay.”

Steve starts kissing up Bucky’s chest, making sure his facial hair presses into Bucky’s skin and scrapes across him hard enough to make Bucky moan. “You said you wanted to try orgasm denial--”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Bucky moans, _instantly_ sounding like he understands where this is heading. He also sounds a tiny but unprepared, in the best way possible, and feverish. Perhaps he never actually expected Steve to take him up on that offer.

Steve smirks against Bucky’s left collar before pinching the skin between his teeth. Bucky whimpers. “I wanna bring you to the brink of it, over and over – ‘till you can’t stand it anymore and you’re begging me to let you come,” Steve growls. Bucky’s rolling his hips up into the air between them, trying and failing to get some form of friction, while pawing uselessly at Steve’s back. Nails drag across his skin, and Steve inhales through his teeth at the dull, addictive pain.

Licking a flat stripe up Bucky’s neck, Steve brings his lips to Bucky’s ear and hisses, “And I’m not gonna let you. It’s gonna start to hurt, and I’m still not gonna stop, Buck. You’ll beg and plead and try to change my mind, but unless you say _red_ I’m not giving you what you want until _I_ say you’re ready. I could drag this out all night for all you know…”

Bucky’s only reaction is to have fallen into a fit of needy moans and whines. Steve glances quickly to his face and then covers Bucky’s throat with his hand. Pressing down enough to get Bucky’s attention, Bucky’s jaw drops and he’s immediately meeting Steve’s eyes. Bucky’s eyes are like marbles; only a little focus left in them already. Steve’s riding his own high; floating on the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and the blissful satisfaction of his promise to make Bucky feel so, so sweet. Because--

“You might even hate me at times; be dying to come so badly that you can’t even think anymore,” he warns him. “Every time I say no, it’ll be because it’s what you need. I know what you need, sweetheart. When you finally come, it’ll be the greatest you’ve ever felt – I promise you. Do you trust me, Buck? That I know what’s best for your body?”

“Yes,” Bucky exhales without pause, enthralled and entranced and looking up at Steve like Steve were god himself. “Gimme.”

“You want it?” Steve asks, his entire body buzzing to life at the permission – but needing to make sure.

Bucky’s so desperate for it that he can’t seem to string together a sentence longer than, “Yeah, gimme, want it. Do it, _please_ , gimme it…”

Exhaling loudly, Steve crushes their lips together, Bucky making shaky noises into his mouth and digging his nails into Steve’s back with even more fervor than before. It feels like Bucky might be breaking the skin. Steve hopes so. He wants to be able to look into the mirror tomorrow and see scratch marks down his entire fucking back. He wants to be reminded of this moment _forever_.

“I got you some stuff,” Steve decides to tell him after finally ending the kiss. Bucky opens his glassy eyes and gives him an inquisitive look, so Steve grins and asks, “You wanna see?” Bucky nods, making Steve’s grin expand. Giving him another rough kiss, Steve pushes himself up and gets off the bed. Going into his walk-in closet, he retrieves the bag with all the toys he’d bought from Purple Passion. He’s already taken everything out of its packaging, so they’d be accessible whenever the time was right. Making sure to take out the collar and quickly hide it on one of the top shelves in there, he walks out with everything else and closes the door behind him.

Bucky’s eyes widen with anticipation when they take in the bag, and the boy’s probably wondering what the hell Steve has in store for him. He starts licking his lips and writhing his back off and on the mattress the closer Steve gets.

“When’d you get ‘em?” he asks, voice hoarse.

Steve climbs back onto the bed, staying on his knees so he can tower over the brunet. “Yesterday,” he answers. “I wanted it to be a surprise, otherwise I would’ve told you. If you don’t like any of them, that’s okay – just tell me. I can always run back out sometime and pick up some more stuff.”

“I wanna see,” Bucky says, starting to push himself up onto his hands; trying to peek into the bag. “Lemme see.” But Steve lays his hand into Bucky’s chest and lightly shoves him back against the bed.

“You wanna see, Buck?”

“Yeah…”

“Alright.” Using both hands to spread the opening of the bag wider, he keeps it from Bucky’s line of sight and looks down into it. “Hmm, what should I show you first? I got us a few different things…”

“Steve,” Bucky whines impatiently.

“Lie still,” Steve tutts in response.

Bucky bites his lip with an exasperated huff, but he forces his head to fall back against the pillow, even though he won’t take his eyes off of the bag. Steve arches a mischievous brow and reaches in, feeling with his fingers. He pulls out the tape first. Bucky’s face busts out into a spacey grin the second he sees it.

“Was thinking of using this on you tonight, but I want you to have use of your hands at a moment’s notice, so my tie will have to do for now,” Steve says. Holding it up and turning it from side to side, he adds, “But I read that this stuff doesn’t stick to your skin; only the tape itself. So it’s supposed to be really comfortable.”

Dropping it back into the bag, he starts pulling out all the items one by one. Not a single one garners a negative reaction from Bucky. When he sees the anal beads, Steve doesn’t miss the way Bucky pushes his ass down against the bed like he can already feel them inside of his body. When Steve shows him the anal plug and dildo, Bucky’s hands fist into the blanket in an attempt to keep from surging up and pouncing on Steve.

“Are you gonna use that on me tonight?” he asks longingly when Steve smirks and holds up the cock ring.

“I thought about it,” Steve admits. “But I’ll only use it if I have to. I wanna know that I can trust you to listen to me and be good without it. You gonna be good without it, or am I gonna have to give you no choice?”

Bucky’s running his hands up and down his abdomen now; eyes still glued to the ring. “I’ll be good,” he promises, but he doesn’t sound completely convinced of himself. But there’s conviction there – somehow it’s even hotter that Bucky isn’t entirely sure if he _will_ be able to be obedient, but _Bucky_ wants to prove that he still can be.

Steve _almost_ fucks Bucky with the vibrator. It’s only by the skin of his teeth that he’s able to control himself. Because when Bucky sees it and Steve turns it on to show him the settings, Bucky pretty much _purrs_ , dick jumping against his belly and starting to look so fucking wet with precome. Steve tells him to keep still, and keeps it on its lowest setting while he drags the tip of the toy up Bucky’s legs, around his belly, over his nipples…

When it follows up the length of his neck, Bucky closes his eyes and arches his head back, exposing more of his throat for Steve’s consideration. The moment where Steve almost says _fuck it_ is when Bucky suddenly drops his head back down and parts his lips, tongue poking out and licking up the full length of the vibrator. His eyes re-open just a sliver at the very end, and he stares up at Steve with the top of his tongue still pressed to the thrumming toy – and they _both_ know that Bucky might as well be saying, _Wish this was your cock, sir._

So Steve has to turn it off and quickly shove it back into the bag, or else the next place it’s going is up Bucky’s ass. And he wants to take his time with these things; devote whole nights to just trying one or two out at a time, so they can savor it and Bucky can experience the full effect of what each toy can do; the pleasure it can give him when used right. Bucky totally knows that he just got under Steve’s skin, too. The triumphant little sneer on his face says it all. 

Mind you, then Steve pulls out the remaining item – the bedpost restraints – and Bucky practically loses his mind.

“I remembered what you told me about bondage, and it not being too much,” Steve says. He watches as Bucky’s chest rises and falls quicker now, heart thumping from the thrill of its promise. His gaze follows whichever way Steve moves them, as if hypnotized. Steve never could’ve guessed that the idea of bondage – _the kind within Bucky’s comfort levels_ – would be one of those kinks that evokes such a strong physical reaction out of Bucky. It just makes Steve even more pleased with himself that he was bang-on with all of his purchases.

For this one – and only this one – he lets Bucky hold them to get a closer look. “If these are more than you’d be comfortable with, we don’t have to try ‘em,” he clarifies. “I just wasn’t sure where to start.” He’s surprised when Bucky brings the leather cuff of one of the restraints to his mouth and bites down on it, just to see if it leaves teeth marks in his wake.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to reach those with your mouth once you’re tied up in them,” Steve points out. _There_ are _faint teeth marks left behind though, and it’s hot as sin – suddenly makes Steve picture Bucky actually having something between his teeth to bite down on while Steve fucked him… How deep would those marks get? How would it taste on Bucky’s tongue? Would his moans sound different, maybe more raspy and tameless?_

“Please put me in these, sir,” Bucky says, trying to sit up again. Steve pushes him back down. Bucky makes a frustrated sound and then sticks up his wrists, offering them to Steve for Steve to do as he likes with him. “Can we try them? Please? I wanna try them.”

Steve takes them from Bucky and considers it, staring at them intently. There’s so much hope in Bucky’s tone, and that’s exactly what Steve wanted, wasn’t it? For Bucky to want Steve’s gifts so badly that he would practically _drool_ over the chance to take them for a test drive? Smiling softly, he nods.

“Turn over.”

“Thank you, _thank you, sir_ ,” Bucky says in a rush of air, and does as he’s told. It takes a minute or so for Steve to figure out how to properly secure the restraint to his bed frame, but once he figures it out, it’s actually very simple. Bucky’s already assuming the proper position, and when Steve lovingly teases, “Someone a little eager?” Bucky just grinds his cock against the bed as his response and groans, half of his face hidden against the pillow.

Steve swats his ass lightly and tells him not to do that again. Bucky just grunts and mutters a half-hearted apology. Honestly, he’s so wound up right now that something as simple as humping the bed for a second too long could result in him exploding like a goddamn bottle rocket before Steve could stop him.

Making sure the restraints are tight but not _too_ tight around Bucky’s wrists and ankles, he finishing binding him and then steps away to assess his good work. The sight of Bucky spread out across his bed like that – all exposed, smooth skin and his fucking _perfect_ ass right there for Steve to take – could make Steve cry in thanks.

After checking in and getting verbal confirmation that Bucky’s comfy and still feeling okay with his bonds – _“Green,” Bucky says, before Steve can even finish asking him for a color_ – Steve drags out a few minutes of doing nothing but nosing along the curves of Bucky’s body… Painting him all over with invisible stamps that’d take on the shape of Steve’s lips if they could leave their trace…

“Feeling good, Buck?” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s hair, now kissing along the back of his neck.

“Mm… yeah…” Bucky whispers back.

“Good. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” Bucky immediately insists, eyes falling closed as he nods into the pillow. Steve can’t help but smile to himself. Chances are, Bucky won’t be singing the same tune within the hour – probably not even that long.

He gets off the bed and picks up the rose. He starts off gentle, soothing… Does nothing more than drag the soft head of the rose across Bucky’s skin; the very tips of the petals kissing flesh and making Bucky sigh and smile and break out into goosebumps. Sometimes, Steve will bend down and kiss Bucky’s shoulder, or his ass; lick a small line up his spine, or – when he’s on the side of the bed where he can see his little boy’s face – kiss his lips, just to remind Bucky that he’s safe even though Bucky doesn’t need the reassurance.

Steve tells him things… Traces the back of Bucky’s knees with the tip of the rose and tells him how perfect he is, how lucky Steve is to have him… Leaves no inch of him that _can_ be touched, untouched… His ankles, the soles of his feet… Steve draws nonsensical designs all over Bucky’s body with the scarlet petals and tells Bucky how much he loves him. He tells Bucky that he’s such a good, thoughtful little boy, and Steve _thanks_ him for letting Steve touch his body this way.

When he gingerly runs the rose down the side of Bucky’s face, Bucky stares up at him with so much emotion – so much want – in his eyes that the air around them could start crackling if they weren’t careful. Steve brushes the petals across Bucky’s plush little mouth and tells him, “I’m gonna draw you like this one day. Just like this, tied up and yielding for me. I’ve never had a muse before, not like you... Once I start drawing you, I’m never gonna wanna stop.”

Bucky doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. He’s gripping onto the lines of rope connecting his wrist cuffs to the bedpost restraints, and he’s shivering. “I don’t want you to stop,” he answers.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve says emphatically, withdrawing the flower so he can run his fingers into Bucky’s hair and see more of his face. “One day, I’m gonna show you what you look like through _my_ eyes.”

Leaning down, he kisses the corner of Bucky’s mouth, whispers “I love you”into Bucky’s ear, and then purposely waits to hear it back before adding, “I wanna taste you…”

Bucky’s lips part, eyes shutting as he moans. “Please,” he exhales. Uncontrollably, he starts rocking his hips down against the mattress again.

Steve glances down and watches as Bucky’s lower back rolls up and down, as if to fuck himself straight into the bed. Tsking under his breath, he straightens and crosses around the bed. “I thought I told you not to do that,” he says with little inflection in his voice. It makes Bucky _that_ much more unprepared when Steve takes a knee and leans onto the bed between Bucky’s spread legs and slaps his hand off of Bucky’s right ass cheek.

It’s nowhere near as hard as Steve’s given him before, but he still counts it as one of the five he’d promised Bucky earlier. He just makes it hard enough to get Bucky’s attention and pull a gasp from the brunet’s lungs. There’s a faint little blotch of pink where Steve’s hand had made contact, and the sight goes straight to Steve’s cock, renewing his erection until he feels like he’s straining. Spreading Bucky with his thumbs, he asks, “You shower before coming over tonight?”

“Yes sir,” Bucky moans, _loving_ – as always – having Steve stare at his tiny pink hole. “Just like you told me to.”

“ _Mm_ , good boy,” Steve praises, swiping his tongue out to wet his lips. Bucky jars, mouth dropping open, when Steve starts darting his tongue over him. Then he’s squirming, testing the strength of his restraints as he tries and fails to move his limbs. The bonds are fantastic though, and definitely serve their purpose. Bucky can’t move, can’t escape – can only accept Steve’s onslaught and take it, moaning more and more vehemently the longer he tries to fight the cuffs keeping him in place… and the longer Steve uses his tongue to fuck Bucky’s insides.

Bucky tastes exquisite, like always. It’s yet another moment when Steve can’t help but think back to how much he’s changed since Bucky came into his life. It baffles him that there was once a time when the thought of rimming someone struck him as scary and even _unappealing_. Now it’s one of Steve’s favorite things in the world to do. He’d eat Bucky out for days on end if food and sleep weren’t necessities.

He loves feeling the way Bucky’s hole will go from being tight and stubborn, to _slowly_ and _gradually_ loosening up until Steve can slide his whole fucking tongue inside of him. He loves the power it makes him feel, to know that Bucky’s body gradually starts to trust Steve enough to allow him in, to make it his. More than anything, though, he loves how much _Bucky_ loves Steve doing this to him.

He denies Bucky his fingers, though; only using his hand when he pulls away long enough to spank Bucky, then eat him out again… Spank him _again_ ; repeat the process… By the time he reaches the fifth and final one, he doesn’t even bother pulling away; just keeps licking the flat of his tongue over Bucky, _again and again_ , at the same time that he cups his palm and brings it down against Bucky’s cheek. He can feel the vibration, sharp and quick, against his own mouth. It’s intoxicating.

Bucky cries out euphorically, and Steve groans at the sound. He rewards Bucky taking his punishment by forcing his chin even harder against him, making sure his facial hair abrades the sensitive skin surrounding Bucky’s hole so Bucky will get that beard burn he’s always begging for.

Finally – _finally_ – he retrieves the bottle of lube so he can slick up his fingers and start working them into Bucky. The tip of the first finger isn’t even more than an inch into him when Bucky starts instinctually trying to press down against the bed again. Steve tries to hold Bucky’s hip steady to stop him, but the deeper he pushes his finger, the less he’s able to keep Bucky immobile doing that alone.

So he orders Bucky to lift his ass up as much as he can. Perhaps the only reason Bucky does it is because he doesn’t understand _why_ he’s being given that instruction. He quickly realizes Steve’s aim, though, when the blond wedges his left arm between Bucky’s lower stomach and the bed, essentially making it impossible for him to continue stimulating his dick against the mattress.

Bucky groans with frustration, then _laughs_ breathlessly. “You fucker,” he complains, only to quickly gasp and start crying out again when Steve hisses back, “ _Yeah?_ ” and shoves the second finger inside of him – thrusting them in and out of Bucky with no tender build up; so quickly that it sounds obscenely wet from the squelching of the lube.

Steve denies him his first orgasm from fingering him. He meticulously begins to catch the tips of his digits over Bucky’s prostate every time he drags his fingers back, and when Bucky’s whines start rising in pitch, he abruptly stops altogether. He’s never done this to Bucky before, so he admittedly has a _quick_ run-in with self-doubt when he leaves Bucky on the brink that first time and listens to the distressed cry it earns him.

He _almost_ asks if Bucky wants him to stop – if he’s changed his mind and doesn’t want any more orgasm play for the rest of the night. But he reminds himself that if Bucky _did_ want that, he’d say so. He’d use the safety word. That’s what it’s there for, after all. Perhaps a part of it has to do with the fact that this is the most in-tune with his role that Steve’s ever been. In terms of dominating Bucky, Steve’s never been this extreme or composed before. He recognizes that he inexplicably feels more self-assured – able to treat Bucky this way with a far greater ease – than he ever did in the past.

But that could very well be because there had been so much uncertainty surrounding them and their relationship up until recently. Given how much confusion Steve had felt over them simply _being_ together, it was tough to fully commit himself to asserting his claim over Bucky when he had himself convinced that Bucky could never _fully_ be his.

But now that roadblock doesn’t exist anymore. There is no second-guessing for either of them, because they’ve finally committed themselves to their decision to be together and make things work. Just the simple knowledge that Bucky _is_ Steve’s boyfriend now – his partner, his muse, his _forever_ – was all it turned out Steve needed to flip that switch he’d otherwise had a hard time turning on.

There’s still a _lot_ Steve feels he needs to work up to when it comes to them being this way with each other; a lot they’ve never tried and he’s still not completely comfortable with. But the idea that with time, Steve _will_ be, more and more each day… It no longer intimidates him. Now, it excites him. The thought of growing and exploring this part of their relationship _with_ Bucky makes Steve feel so much more alive than he’s ever felt before.

Part of accepting their roles is to trust Bucky as much as Bucky trusts him.

_‘…Steve, this only works if you trust me like I’m trustin’ you. So can you just trust me, please? I like pain, but m’not abusive towards myself – if I don’t like something you do, I’m gonna tell you…’_

Even back then, Bucky had gotten it. He understood and embraced that simple concept from the beginning, somehow placing that much trust into Steve before Steve really had the chance to earn it. Something in Bucky _always_ trusted Steve, even before they intimately knew each other inside and out. And it’s never been _Bucky_ that Steve doesn’t trust – it’d always been himself. Spawned from the basal need within him to never _truly_ hurt Bucky in a way Bucky wouldn’t like.

And yet that’s the point: he’d _never_ hurt Bucky like that. He knows it, and he’d rather die than do otherwise. He thinks it might be about time that he starts trusting himself the way Bucky clearly trusts him.

So he doesn’t ask Bucky if he wants him to stop. Instead, he frees Bucky from his restraints so he can turn him over and bring Bucky to the edge a _second_ time, this time with Steve’s lips stretched around his cock. It doesn’t take nearly as long before he’s sensing the signs in Bucky’s body – only two or three minutes at max. Despite Bucky knowing full well that Steve has no intention of letting him come, he still takes advantage of having use of his hands again and tries to keep Steve’s head shoved down when his cock is stuffing Steve’s throat.

It causes Steve to sputter – _makes his own dick start leaking precome because he fucking loves it when Bucky fucks his throat_ – and then pin Bucky’s wrists down to the bed with bruising force. Bucky’s repercussions for doing that is the sight of Steve deliberately waiting until Bucky glances down at him (completely doe-eyed and gasping with every inhale) to hollow out his cheeks and _slowly_ drag his mouth back up Bucky’s cock.

He’s staring up at Bucky from beneath his lashes, his gaze scolding and dark. Bucky’s brows are pinched up in the middle. His mouth falls open wider and he releases a helpless sound when his eyes flitter downward, undoubtedly watching his cock re-appear inch by inch from between Steve’s lips, shining with spit.

They both know what’s coming, but there’s still a destitute franticness in Bucky’s expression when Steve’s lips slip over the tip of his dick. Because this time, Steve _won’t_ be going back down again. Sure enough, Steve lets Bucky fall from his mouth completely, _right_ as he can feel the veins in Bucky’s cock start straining against his tongue. For a second time, he was moments away from that sweet, merciful release.

And Steve just went and denied him that again.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut as his body is once again balancing on the precipice, only to come crashing back down unsatisfied. Croaking weakly, he presses the heels of his palms over his eyes and grits his teeth. When he whines out the word _please_ , Steve ignores him and peppers kisses along his iliac furrow and hip bones. He’s heard the different ways that Bucky begs, and this isn’t the genuine kind yet. Bucky’s still in too much control. Steve doesn’t want Bucky to come until Bucky’s begging because _he doesn’t know how to do otherwise_. Because he needs it so badly that it’s the only thought his brain can process.

 _Not_ because it’s a deliberate ploy to try and sway Steve into giving up so soon, _just_ to see if Bucky can get his way.

By the third time, the begging is laid on a lot thicker and sounds a _tiny_ bit more genuine, but Bucky’s getting overzealous. Steve teases him some more with his mouth until he has to threaten to bind Bucky up again if he doesn’t stop trying to thrust up into Steve’s throat. When Steve retreats just as Bucky’s about to orgasm again, the noise that constricts in Bucky’s chest sounds slightly pained this time, paired with a bitten out, “ _Fuck!_ ”

Steve watches him struggle through it, all the while rubbing Bucky’s calf and murmuring in the background, “I know, baby, it’s alright… You’re doing great…” He doesn’t want to overwhelm Bucky with _too_ many rounds of this, because it could feel like too much to handle on their first try. However, Steve knows that Bucky has at least a _few_ more left in him.

He lets Bucky calm down; keeps encouraging him and massages some of the tenseness from Bucky’s muscles until the brunet at least doesn’t look pained anymore. Just frustrated – face tipped to the side and screwed up tight, while Bucky tries to steady his breaths, taken entirely through his nose.

Gently taking hold of his wrists, Steve tugs and helps Bucky sit up. Cupping his face, Steve scans him for any signs of _true_ pain and protectively asks, “You still with me?”

It takes a few more curt breaths, but then Bucky’s holding onto Steve’s wrists and nodding.

“Are you alright?” Steve asks next, now trying to find that balance between not breaking out of his role, while _also_ being incapable of hiding the concern he’s feeling for Bucky’s well-being. “Give me a color.”

Bucky slowly opens his eyes and looks back at Steve; has to blink a few times to focus his stare, his eyes are so bleary. “Green,” he quietly answers. “It hurts but… I’m okay. Hard to explain… It feels good, too, though. I like it as much as I hate it… But m’fine. Don’t wanna stop.”

Steve nods, kissing him. He mumbles, “C’mere,” against Bucky’s mouth and then guides Bucky’s arms up so they’re draped over Steve’s shoulders. Bucky’s movements are sluggish and delayed, but eventually he slides his fingers into Steve’s hair and weakly clutches to him, meeting every kiss with exhaustion. His body’s anxious with the need to feel release, and he’s using up more strength than he has just to stay upright, legs shaking.

Wrapping his big arms around Bucky – _he feels so small in them, and Steve loves that_ – he hugs the younger boy to him tightly, evening leaning back a bit to take some of the weight off Bucky’s thighs and alleviate him. Circling, he drops down onto his own back and pulls Bucky down with him, their mouths never tearing away from each other. Blindly, Steve reaches to the side and opens his drawer to grab the usual essentials. They don’t speak, just keep kissing as Steve opens the wrapper and then brings his hands down between them. Not even needing to be told, Bucky obediently anchors his knees against the mattress and lifts his ass into the air, giving Steve the room he needs to roll the condom down over his cock.

Once it’s slick with lube, Steve frames Bucky’s hips in his hands without even wiping them clean first, while Bucky pants into his mouth and lowers his own hand to tilt Steve up and angle him to his asshole. He begins to sink down, and together they groan. Everything in Steve wants Bucky to ride him hard and rough; wants to give Bucky permission to touch himself while he fucks himself off Steve’s cock and greedily uses his body to unlock his own pleasure. It’s so tempting to do nothing more than lie there and give Bucky the green light to paint his chest with those delicious pearly streams of come. He wants to watch the way they spit out of Bucky’s dick; all for Steve, every last drop.

That’s not what he does, however. He waits until Bucky’s fully seated himself and he knows Bucky’s okay. He stares up at him as if Bucky were an angel, and Steve was about to be saved. “You okay?” he whispers, reaching up and running his thumb down the cleft in his little boy’s chin. Bucky’s eyes are closed and there’s slight discomfort but _so much fucking ecstasy_ pinching up his face. He exhales a loud and trembling breath, but he nods. Steve uses his clean hand to brush the pad of his thumb over Bucky’s swollen bottom lip and Bucky sucks the tip of it into his mouth; massages his tongue to it with the softest little _mm_ …

He lets Bucky’s grace period last a few more seconds, and then uses his other hand to start coaxing Bucky into rocking his hips. Bucky’s hands are splayed flush atop his ribs, fingers perfectly slotted between each one, palms pressing down and making Steve feel _slight_ discomfort at the pressure. He loves it, though. He loves seeing Bucky like this.

Bucky doesn’t struggle, even though part of him probably wants to. But he’s good, _such a good boy for Steve_ , wants to prove himself so bad… He fights the burning need they’re both feeling in their guts to take over the situation and rebel against Steve’s orders; instead just slowly tips his hips back and forth to get used to the sensation of being stretched so full again. Pressing his hands harder against Steve’s torso, Bucky’s mouth falls open with a little _pop_ , and he arches his back and straightens his arms as if moving in slow motion.

The minutes pass, and Steve watches with a sense of unadulterated worship. When the tiny movements don’t seem to be enough for Bucky anymore, he lifts his hips and lets himself fall – _up, down, up higher, down harder_ – until he’s trying to build the pace and bounce himself off of Steve’s erection. Calm and gentle, with limbs as heavy as lead, Steve grips Bucky’s waist tighter and breathes, “Slow… _slow_ …”

And doesn’t ease his grip until Bucky whimpers and forces himself to slow his pace back down.

Licking his lips, Steve nods to himself and tilts his head back into the pillow, eyes closing as licks of pleasure swirl and dance across his body. “Fuck… yeah… _God,_ that’s good,” he breathes.

Every time Bucky tries to speed up, Steve makes him slow down again. This carries on for almost a full hour. The longer they go, the slicker their skin gets with perspiration. After having to be redirected enough times, it’s like Bucky’s trying to train himself to memorize the exact pace Steve deems most acceptable, and then working his hardest to keep it. Steve’s eyes are all over him, every inch of his body; drinking in the way Bucky’s head is tipped up towards the ceiling, or the way his arms are shaking; hands sometimes sliding off Steve clumsily, due to how hot and sweaty they both are.

The way Bucky’s stomach looks with every undulation of his hips could drive a sane man crazy, and a crazy man sane… Muscles glistening and tightening together, relaxing, tightening together, as his lower back rolls like a beautiful, rhythmic wave… When Bucky can’t seem to keep his hands anchored to Steve for more than a few seconds at a time before they’re slipping back off, Steve gathers them up and uses his own hands to keep Bucky’s wrists pinned to the small of his back. He’d originally intended to do something along these lines and was planning to use his tie, but now that’s discarded somewhere on the floor, and there’s no way he’s going to stop what they’re doing just so he can go grab it.

Being restrained again sparks the more animalistic side of Bucky – the one desperate for _more_. He tries to grind against Steve faster, but then sobs out a broken sound when Steve grabs his hip with one hand again and stops him.

“ _Slow_ ,” Steve exhales again, drawing the word out. He’s overheating and drowning in sweat, and the air around them is so thick and musty with the smell of sex that it’s hard to breathe, and Steve feels completely drunk. His own eyes are unfocused, and everything’s blurry around the edges – _could be the sweat getting in his eyes, or it could be overstimulated tears, same as the ones Bucky currently has leaking from the corners of his own…_

It feels like a struggle to get his words out, but he does; strokes Bucky’s hip in his hand and keeps slurring out, “Slower… _slower_ …” until Bucky’s _crying_ from frustration but nevertheless doing as he’s told. Slowing and slowing until he’s moving at a cruel, unrealistic pace; slow that’s _way too slow to be fair_ , just because Steve’s getting high off of Bucky listening to him so well, and Bucky’s high as a kite at Steve taking control of Bucky’s body like this.

Whenever Bucky’s dick starts to go soft from lack of attention, Steve will let go of Bucky’s hip so he can tease him and work him back up. Here and there, he adds a finger or two into Bucky’s ass and strokes the velvety walls of his insides while Bucky’s still impaled on his cock. Others, Steve will wrap his hand around Bucky’s slightly flagged hard-on and jerk him off just a _little_ faster than the pace Bucky’s riding him at. It’ll make Bucky throw his head back – wrists still held against his tailbone beneath Steve’s other hand and, really, making little effort to break free of the grip – and _scream_ for just a few seconds.

Steve always lets go the moment Bucky’s painfully hard against his palm again. Always when he’s brought right back to the edge and has to suffer yet another rejected orgasm.

“ _A-Auh_ , S… Sir… Steve… _Puh_ … _Please_ …” Bucky begs, gasping erratically between each word. His voice is thick with tears, the words coming out just as lethargic and fucked out as Steve sounds. 

Steve rolls his hips just as achingly slow to meet each movement of Bucky’s pelvis; grinding up into him deep and teasing Bucky even worse. “ _Oh god_ ,” he pants, barely audible. “It’s so good… Yeah _, yeah_ … Baby…”

“S-Steve, _please_ \--”

“That’s it, Buck… Take it, _such a good b-boy…_ Oh, _a-ah_ … Just like that…” He lets go of Bucky’s wrists, has to quickly snatch his hips with both hands to keep Bucky from collapsing over. “Tilt your hips back.”

Bucky bares his gritted teeth. Squeezes his eyes shut tighter as fresh tears roll down his bright red cheeks. Shaking his head, he whimpers, “No…”

“Tilt your hips, Buck,” Steve repeats, still just as calmly.

Another wobbly whimper. “No, _please_ …”

Steve digs his fingers hard into Bucky’s sides; forces him to completely still. Bucky cries out with chagrin, and his asshole is fluttering uncontrollably around Steve, and it feels so fucking good. Steeling his tone, he says again: “Tilt. Your hips. _Now_.”

Whimpering soft, hurt sounds, Bucky fumbles his hands back and reluctantly secures a steady grip onto Steve’s lower shins. Leaning back, anxious sounds start to build up in his chest, both of them knowing what’s coming. All the same, he releases an unprepared shout when Steve growls and makes Bucky resume rocking his hips – the angle forcing his cock to drag along Bucky’s prostate no matter _which_ way Bucky moves.

Bucky shrieks. He shrieks and sobs and begins to spasm so hard from fighting to hold himself up that he’s practically convulsing. He loses the strength left to even keep his head up, and then it’s tipped back – the base of his skull snugly pressed between his shoulder blades – as tears stream across his temples, into his hair, his ears…

And he _screams_ and _screams_ as he fucks his prostate over and over against the thickness of Steve’s dick; mouth permanently slackened and incapable of words at this point. Just sounds – broken up, wrecked, absolutely _demolished_ sounds. Steve’s hand isn’t even necessary anymore, Bucky’s own cock is so swollen and flushed; tip dragging back and forth across Steve’s lower stomach and dripping precome into his treasure trail.

It’s so tight, so hot in there. Steve wonders if he might be going insane because he’s so oversensitive that he starts to think he can _feel_ his little boy’s sweet spot swelling and scraping back against him perfectly – size and texture and temperature and all. If this were any other occasion, now would be about the time where Steve would be encouraging Bucky, ‘ _Come for me_.’

He knows Bucky wants to. _Needs_ to. He’s so impassioned and picked apart right now that he’s no longer even capable of screaming anymore. Just these feeble little whines, and choking over every breath. Steve can empathize – his lungs can’t seem to get enough air either. This is the closest he’s gotten Bucky so far. Bucky still seems to be with him, if even just by a tether, but his mind seems to have shut down. The only thing driving him is the glimmer of hope that Steve will finally let him finish, and his body’s primal need to have it.

And then Steve rips it away from him _again_.

Steve waits until Bucky’s slowly lifting his hips back up to suddenly grab them and hold him still. Bucky’s eyes fly open. He only gets enough time to lift his head and snap his gaze down to Steve for a _split_ second before Steve’s lifting his hips off the mattress and drilling his cock up into Bucky, ruthless and fast. Bucky’s head is instantly falling back again, and Bucky re-finds his voice – what’s left of it anyways. He’d screamed so passionately and for so _long_ earlier that it’s now chopped up and grating.

Steve’s moans bleed in and mix with Bucky’s. The closer he feels himself get, the quicker and higher-pitched they push out. Suddenly, Bucky seems to snap back to himself enough to realize what Steve’s about to do.

“No,” he pleads frantically. “No, no, no no _no!_ ”

_Yes._

Steve surges up and throws his arm around Bucky’s lower back, hoisting Bucky to straighten up. Before Bucky can react, Steve flips them back over so he can dump Bucky onto the bed. Pulling off the condom, Steve tosses it aside and keeps Bucky pinned to the mattress with one hand on his chest, while the other pumps over his dick. Bucky’s back to sobbing again, looking agonized as he wails out more crestfallen _No_ ’s and _please_ ’s.

First Steve gasps, then he groans softly. Between them, he starts climaxing across Bucky’s stomach. He’s caught off guard when – even though Bucky’s undoubtedly going crazy and probably hating Steve a fair bit right now – Bucky notices the warm strip of sperm coating his skin and then starts trying to pull Steve towards him by his hips. His eyes are on Steve’s cock, and Steve knows what Bucky wants. There’s no fucking way he can say no to that.

Shuffling up quickly, still fucking coming, he grabs onto the back of the headboard and feeds his cock straight into Bucky’s mouth so Bucky can suckle along him and swallow down what’s left. There are still tears streaming down his poor little face, and with every few bobs of his head, he’ll stop for a second to sniffle for before continuing.

Steve moans embarrassingly loud at the sight of him, the _feel_ of him. He uses his free hand to pet his fingers into the hair at the top of Bucky’s head, and Bucky opens his own red-rimmed eyes so he can stare back up at Steve, mouth full and all, and moan _back_. There’s still an added layer of frustration to Bucky’s tone, though. Steve doesn’t miss it.

Steve’s heart is still pounding wildly, even after the intensity of the orgasm finally subsides. He feels like he’s seconds away from a heart attack. After pulling away from Bucky’s mouth, Bucky covers his face and goes back to moaning in discomfort. Unlike Steve’s now relieved and softening dick, _his_ is still lying stiff and pained against his belly. It’s a very angry sort of red; redder than Steve’s ever seen anybody get. The veins are pushing against the skin so hard that it looks like Bucky would unravel and come if Steve so much as _breathed_ on it at this point.

And yet Bucky keeps his hands on his face as opposed to grabbing his dick and giving it the few strokes it’d need. Despite how simple it’d be after such an extensive build up, Bucky’s _still_ not breaking Steve’s rules.

“Shh, shhhh, Buck, it’s okay,” Steve whispers, gently pulling Bucky’s hands away so he can kiss across his face. Bucky whimpers and turns his face in to meet some of the kisses, and he moans with a bit more fervor when he feels Steve lick away a few of his tears before pressing his lips to his temples.

“You alright? Check in with me, sweetheart,” Steve says, looking down into Bucky’s eyes. He feels a lot more stable and level-headed thanks to his orgasm. Bucky, on the other hand, still looks completely strung out.

“Hurts,” is the only coherent thing Bucky can manage to get out.

“Are you still with me?” Steve asks carefully. He’s never seen subspace before, and that’s one of the things he’s still a little nervous about experiencing for the first time with Bucky. He’s scared he’ll fuck up and not be able to differentiate the signs in time if Bucky were to fall under. “Say ‘green’ if you’re still with me, baby.”

It takes a few tries, but mostly just because Bucky’s marred with fatigue. Eventually he _does_ answer, “G… Green…” and then he’s sniffling again and pressing his forehead to Steve’s cheek. “Y-You…?”

“Me?” Steve blinks with surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Feel good?” Bucky mumbles slowly. “When… you came…?”

Steve turns Bucky’s face back in and kisses him again. “Yeah,” he says softly. “You always make me feel so good, Buck. You listened _so_ well, you got no idea how proud of you I am.” Bucky’s lips turn up into the frailest, weakest smile Steve’s ever seen on him. But there’s still so much there. Bucky’s eyes still light up from the praise, and it makes the whole thing adorably sad. Clucking sympathetically, Steve asks, “What about you, hmm? You hate me yet?”

Bucky’s face twists up in discomfort at the reminder of his neglected hard-on. At least, when Steve sneaks a quick glance, it looks like it’s starting to soften up a bit again. That has to pacify a _bit_ of the pressure, if nothing else. “Hate you so fucking much,” Bucky slowly mumbles. “But… so sexy. Never seen you like that…”

“Still love me?” Steve playfully murmurs. He pecks Bucky’s nose and then kisses down his chest to lick up his own release and clean his precious boy’s body.

He hears Bucky inhale deeply; releases it with a hum. “Always,” Bucky whispers. His hand lazily runs its fingers through Steve’s hair as the blond runs his tongue along him. Within the minute, Steve notices Bucky’s breathing patterns have slowed down. Glancing back up at him, Steve’s surprised to see Bucky’s eyes closed, face tipped back into the pillow and his features less rigid.

“Buck?” he quietly says.

Bucky inhales again through his nose. “Just… couple minutes, okay?” he mumbles, half-asleep. “Then I can… go… again… Jus’ need…”

Steve gets a warm smile. Kissing Bucky’s stomach again, he straightens up and starts to work the top blanket down from under Bucky. Bucky’s so out of it that he even rolls over onto his side –sliding his hand beneath the pillow and getting more comfortable – and maneuvers enough to let Steve get the blanket over him. Steve strokes his hair a few times before kissing his forehead. Bucky’s still all sweaty, making his skin taste like salt. His eyelashes are clumped together from all the tears he shed.

“I love you,” Steve whispers into his ear. Bucky’s only response is to hum weakly, but Steve doubts he’s even considered conscious anymore. Smiling again, he adds, “Sleep tight.”

He looks so cute, curled up and completely passed out so soon. Steve tuckered him out so bad that his body can’t even stay awake on him. After pulling on a pair of sweatpants, Steve leaves the room to go get rid of the condom, before heading downstairs to clean up the living room. Eventually, he’ll start on dessert, and then he’ll wake Bucky when it’s ready, granted that Bucky even wants to get up. If he’s too exhausted and just wants to go back to bed, Steve will let him.

Bucky, the poor boy, falls asleep with his dick still hard.

 

\---

 

Little over an hour later, Steve’s in the middle of mixing together the ingredients for the brownies when Bucky pads into the kitchen. Steve hadn’t heard him coming down the stairs over the TV playing in the living room, so when Bucky rasps out, “Steve?” Steve almost jumps out of his skin.

Chuckling, he turns his head to look to Bucky, about to ask him how his nap was. He gets as far as, “Hey sleepyhead--”

And then he forgets everything he was about to say.

Bucky looks _completely_ disoriented, and still not fully awake. His hair is sticking up all over the place from all the sweat that’d been carded into it earlier, and he’s squinting like the light in the kitchen is too bright for him. Face twisted up, the corners of his eyes are teary again and his eyes keep darting around in front of him like he can’t focus but he’s _trying_ to. Then suddenly, they close, and his bottom lip trembles as his mouth presses into an uneven line. Steve can hear him whimpering and sniffling.

It’s not difficult to see why.

He’s in nothing but his boxer briefs, and they’re tented – so much so that Steve can faintly see the tip of his erection through the tiny slit at the front. His cock sticks out so straight against his underwear that it’s like an exclamation point in Steve’s direction. Like it’s saying, _you did this to me_. The fabric all around the tip is soaked through with a huge patch of precome. Steve wonders when this happened – did Bucky wake up, put his underwear on, and then fall back to bed? Did some of that happen in his sleep? Or is there an even _bigger_ wet patch on his mattress, and this much of a mess the result of Bucky being dressed for no more than two or three minutes?

“I… _Please_ …” Bucky’s repeating, unable to form a proper sentence. “Need… Please… Sir, please…” He flimsily gestures downward with his hand, _also_ recognizing that he’s struggling to articulate himself.

And for a brief moment, Steve’s rooted to the spot, because he’s never seen Bucky look this vulnerable and deteriorated before and the first thought he has is that he took it too far. There’s no doubt by Bucky’s appearance that his cock must be hurting _badly_. Steve’s dragged him to the edge so many times that it’s actually shocking right now to see him able to walk around and retain some control over himself, while the rest of him is tripping over his words and thoughts like this.

But then he remembers the first time Steve had spanked him, and Bucky had cried. He’d worried the same thing back then: that he’d fucked up. But the crying hadn’t been a _negative_ thing, and Bucky loved every second of it, which was why he never even considered using the safety word. Sometimes, it’s just a thing that happens when Bucky gets fucked. His body is so sensitive and acute to the sensations it feels that when it’s overwhelming, he cries. Once Steve got over that initial nervousness at the sight of it, it actually grew to be quite the turn on for him.

This is just another one of those things that’s jarring and sparking Steve’s protective instincts, because they’ve never tried anything like this before, so Bucky in such a debauched state is new.

But he needs to be sure, because Bucky’s safety is what’s most important, and he needs to know if what he did took things too far. Quickly abandoning the dessert stuff, he crosses over to him and takes Bucky’s face in his hands. _If_ Bucky’s experiencing some sort of crash, Steve needs to push down the part in him that wants to freak out with worry, and be the calm face of comfort for Bucky’s sake.

“Oh, poor boy, _Jesus_ , look at you,” he says, kissing across his face. Bucky lifts his hands and rests them on Steve’s hips, gripping him tightly. “Color. Please, Buck, give me a color,” he instructs him, _just_ managing to keep his voice collected – like he’s still handling this whole situation and everything’s fine. He just needs to make sure Bucky’s okay, he can’t panic…

Bucky’s answer honestly surprises him. Whatever strength he has, he puts into reaching up with one hand to grab the back of Steve’s head and shove their mouths together. Kissing Steve quick, in a frenzy, Bucky replies, slow and thick like his voice is made of syrup, “Green… S’green… M’okay… Don’t… It’s green, stay with me… Don’t go, need this, _please_ , sir, touch me, _please_ , please let… me come, needta come…”

_Stay with me…_

_Don’t go…_

_Sir._

Bucky’s more aware of what’s going on than his body can translate. He’s telling him that he still needs _this_ version of Steve. He’s not finished being dominated yet – no matter how far gone he looks and feels, no matter how much he’s aching, he’s still in control. He can still say the word but he’s choosing not to. _That’s_ what he’s trying to say.

It doesn’t matter how hard Steve worked himself and how intensely he came no more than an hour earlier, his pulse is immediately racing through his veins again, pumping heat everywhere. Swallowing hard, he nods and asks between more kisses, “You ready to come, baby?”

Bucky moans _loudly_ , filled with so much relief that Steve’s immediately getting hard again in his own pants. “Yes, _yes_ , _please yes_ ,” Bucky’s chanting, almost to the point of _shouting_.

“You’ve been so good; I can’t believe how fucking good you were tonight,” Steve starts rambling. It’s all true, too – he could’ve never imagined Bucky would be so obedient and be able to will his body to listen to Steve like that. He’s never felt this sort of connection, this sort of _trust_ , with anybody. Bucky cries out like it’s a _miracle_ when Steve finally presses his hand to Bucky’s lower belly and slides it into his boxer briefs. His dick feels scalding to the touch. The cockhead is so thoroughly soaked with precome that one touch gets Steve’s entire palm slick.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? Hmm, baby? _God_ , you’re so fucking hard, you really need this, don’t you,” Steve keeps talking, not knowing how to stop. He knows well enough to take it easy and keep his grip gentler than normal. Bucky’s too sensitive for anything more.

“Steve--” Bucky whimpers anxiously, chest heaving and beginning to lose his breath as he’s wracked with fresh sobs. He sounds unprepared, like he’s about to come and he’s not sure he can handle it. His legs are shaking so hard from trying to stay standing that the _rest_ of him is thrumming, too.

“I know, I got you Bucky,” Steve replies, panting right along with him. He’d give up getting off for the rest of his life if it meant he could do this to Bucky for the rest of _his_. He’s never felt this sort of satisfaction; literally never been so horny so _quickly_ just from watching someone else. It’s like he can feel everything Bucky’s feeling within his own body. “You can do this, it’s okay, I’m right here. _Jesus Christ_ , this is… _Oh my god_ , so fucking hot… Come for me, baby, I’m right here…”

“Steve… _S-Steve_!” Bucky sobs.

“Let go for me – I know, I know it feels scary, it’ll feel so good though, I _promise_.” He fucks his fist over Bucky a bit quicker and Bucky shouts so loudly that Steve’s ears start ringing. “Come for me, Buck, c’mon, let go, I know you want to--”

“ _Mm! A-Auh… Mm, mm, mm –_ oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Bucky’s wailing, tears streaming down his face so vehemently that they drip from his chin.

“That’s it, baby, let go,” Steve pleads with him. “Come for me.”

Bucky’s mouth forms an O around a silent scream. Steve starts to feel his hand getting covered in hot, sticky liquid and then Bucky’s making a noise like he just got stabbed. It sounds like it gets ripped from his lungs and catches him off guard. It all happens so quickly, but right as he finally starts to come, Bucky’s knees give out and he starts to fall into Steve. Reflexes fast, Steve snakes his arm around Bucky’s lower back and catches his weight against him; keeps him held up and keeps stroking him through it, while Bucky buries his face into Steve’s neck and _cries_ and _cries_ , and _comes_ and _comes_ …

Fuck, there’s so much; feels like Bucky’s coming more than any regular person should even be able to, until Steve’s whole hand is drenched in it and the _entire_ front of his boxers are soaked through. He keeps Bucky on his feet and groans here and there at the destroyed, but wholly _grateful_ sounds Bucky keeps exhaling against his neck.

Steve says things he can’t even remember five minutes later, because he isn’t thinking really. All he knows is that it’s praise, and probably a lot of it is the Hallmark, _cheesy_ kind of professions of love, but he doesn’t care. Judging by the way Bucky uncontrollably thrusts weakly into his hand whenever he says something, it’s exactly the sort of thing Bucky likes to hear.

He pulls his hand out when Bucky tries to push against his arm, signalling that he can’t take anymore. It’s covered in semen but Bucky’s underwear is dirty anyways, so Steve clutches onto Bucky’s upper thigh and gives Bucky the time he needs to come down from it; held against him and clinging to Steve, feeling so tiny in his arms.

“That’s it… Shh, that’s it…” Steve murmurs, kissing his hair. “Feel better?”

“ _Mmph_ ,” he hears, the sound muffled into his neck. He chuckles breathlessly, and to his delight Bucky weakly laughs against him, too.

“You need me to bring you to the couch?”

Bucky nods, so Steve bends his knees so he can scoop Bucky up and carry him into the living room. Bucky sinks into the cushions like dead weight, but now he’s smiling, and Steve thinks – not for the first time – that he’s never looked so beautiful. He peels Bucky’s underwear off for him and says, “I think you should be naked for the rest of the night.”

“ _Mm…_ Sounds good to me,” Bucky answers, still catching his breath.

Steve runs downstairs to dispose of Bucky’s underwear, making a mental note to do a load of laundry in the morning so Bucky can have them back by the time he has to head home. Part of him expects to find Bucky passed out again, but when he returns upstairs to pour him a glass of water, Bucky’s wide awake. Still boneless, though. It takes a laughable effort for him to raise his hand and make a grabby motion when he sees the water.

There are more than a few perks to having Bucky’s body on such accessible display for the rest of the evening. Steve doesn’t leave his side at first; passes the time by coating him with adoring kisses and gushing about how incredible Bucky was for him. Eventually, Bucky’s able to get some of his strength back, and he uses it to crawl over Steve so he can kiss him; straddling him and framing Steve to the couch with his long legs. Every time he surprises Steve by breathing out, “ _Thank you_ ,” Steve gets a little dizzier, and moans softly while Bucky’s tongue plays against his.

Having Bucky naked means that Steve gets to give him his reward – which is essentially that Bucky can now come whenever he wants, if he wants, since he spent all night being denied it. When they finally get around to eating the dessert Steve makes, Steve abandons his brownie after only a couple bites so he can kneel between Bucky’s legs and suck him off.

When he’s doing the dishes and _finally_ lets Bucky help with drying them, all he needs to do is quickly suck on his finger and then come up behind him, sliding it into Bucky’s ass just to be a sneaky prick. He doesn’t do that again though, since Bucky gasps at the sudden intrusion and almost drops the plate in his hand. He _does_ , however, let Bucky put it away so he can grip onto the edge of the counter and pant into the air while Steve kisses across the back of his shoulders and gets his fingers back into him, nice and deep and steady and when Bucky moans, “ _More_ ,” Steve gives it to him.

Bucky was so tightly strung over the last couple days that his orgasm earlier – mind-blowing as it was – isn’t the only one he needs to feel slaked. Over the course of the rest of the night, Steve’s able to get him off four more times. Twice with his hands, once with his mouth, and another with Steve fucking into him on the couch. For the rest of the night, Steve never makes Bucky work for it.

By the time they’re settled back down and deciding to re-watch the end of the movie from earlier, Steve’s entire back is raked down to his tailbone with scratch marks, just like he wanted. Every time he shifts, they burn, and Steve smiles. He’s got three very dark hickies bloomed across his collar bones. Bucky’s got one on his peck, another on his inner right thigh, and an impressive set of teeth marks on his inner left. Steve thinks that all-in-all, the night was a success. Bucky’s happy, and on that basis alone, so is Steve.

They even get to finish the movie properly this time.

 

\---

 

Bucky’s in the middle of brushing his teeth when Steve puts all the toys from earlier back into his closet. His eyes trail up to the smooth wooden box he’d stashed away up there, and he goes still. He can hear the water sloshing around in the sink, mixed with Bucky occasionally spitting. Bucky’s completely back to his normal self, and he _sounds_ as such when Steve hears him chuckle, clear and bright and warm like Coney Island on a summer’s day.

“Man, you really did a number on my chest, Stevie. You think if I start callin’ ya somethin’ like _Dirt Devil_ at school, I’ll earn more hickies as my punishment?” Bucky calls to him jokingly. “Got a mouth like a fuckin’ vacuum cleaner on ya.”

Steve doesn’t answer. Getting a small smile, he reaches up and pulls the box down from the shelf, cradling it in his hands.

“No? Don’t like _Dirt Devil?_ ” Bucky keeps going, and Steve can _hear_ the smile in his voice. “What about _Eureka_ , or _Dyson_ , or… Are you even still up here, or am I talkin’ to myself?”

Bucky’s turning off the water and dropping his toothbrush (the one he picked up that stays specifically at Steve’s place) back into the holder when Steve walks into the door frame. He’s got his right hand casually behind his back. Leaning against the frame, he takes in Bucky’s reflection and smiles at him fondly. Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins the second he sees him.

“So you _are_ still up here,” he teases, still meeting Steve’s eyes through his reflection. “I thought you’d gone back downstairs or somethin’.” He chuckles when Steve just continues to stare at him lovingly, with that same warm smile, and asks, “ _What?_ ”

Steve straightens and gives him a tiny nod. “Close your eyes,” he says.

“Whyyyyyy?” Bucky sing-song, drawing out the word playfully and narrowing his grey eyes with mock suspicion.

“Just trust me, close your eyes. You’ll like it.”

_At least, he hopes so…_

Bucky pretends to sigh over-dramatically with a roll of his eyes. “Fine,” he says, closing them. “So overdramatic, swear to god, everything’s a song and dance with ya,” he keeps talking, teasing Steve as – unbeknownst to him – the blond opens up the box and pulls out the gift inside. Bucky keeps talking; makes some joke about how if Steve’s big plan is to bend him over the counter, he didn’t need Bucky’s eyes shut for that, ‘ _I would’a just said yes_ \--’

But then Steve reaches around him and frames the collar around his throat. The _moment_ it touches Bucky’s Adam’s apple, the words freeze mid-sentence and Bucky stills with a quick inhale. Steve’s heart feels like it’s throwing itself against his ribcage, he’s so nervous. He just wants Bucky to like it. He hopes he wasn’t being presumptuous in assuming that Bucky was actually _serious_ about wanting one.

Once he’s fastened it at the back, he rests his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and leans in. The back of Bucky’s neck now has the crisp, biting smell of leather hugging his skin. Steve’s cheeks flush at the sight – that _smell_ – and he presses his lips to the stretch of his nape just above where the collar’s sitting. Bucky’s lips part with a tiny gasp, and Steve peers to their reflections to see that Bucky still has his eyes closed.

He’s also completely _naked_ , save for the collar… and Steve was right. The contrast of jet black against Bucky’s sun-kissed skin tone is like nothing he’s ever seen before. The hue of the collar also brightens that splash of purplish-blue, right above Bucky’s heart, where Steve had branded him earlier. It’s like Bucky wearing the collar somehow makes that hickey stand out more – a statement, a reminder: no one else gets to have him like this but _Steve._

 _Fuck..._ He could’ve never prepared himself for how Bucky would look like this. His body is a canvas; the most extraordinary artwork Steve’s ever beheld, and the artist within him wants to do nothing but lay Bucky out and immortalize his lover’s perfection on paper…

Every possible pose, every possible expression – Steve wants to spends hours drawing Bucky. Night and day, and then longer than that. Until Bucky tells him to stop. Steve never wants to stop. He wants to love Bucky forever; wake up each and every day with the goal that _today, today will be the day I get it perfect. Today’s the day Bucky will_ finally _understand how he looks through my eyes._

But he knows he’ll never be able to do it justice. No matter how hard he tries and how close he gets, he’ll never be able to replicate Bucky’s beauty, and Bucky will never truly be able to know just how Steve sees him. But _fuck_ , he can try. If Bucky will let him.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s stomach and hovers his lips behind his ear. “Open…”

Slowly, they do. There are already tears in them, and for a second time in a row, Steve isn’t prepared for the effect that has on his heart. Bucky stares at it in the mirror, bereft of words, and brings up a hand to graze his fingertips along it.

“This…”

Steve smiles. “Yep.”

“You actually got me one…”

Bucky leans forward a little to get a better look, and Steve leans with him, the two still sandwiched together. Bucky looks completely awed. Steve hopes to god that Bucky can see what this really means… The fact that it’s a collar is irrelevant. It’s what it represents: not just that Bucky is _Steve’s_ , but that Steve is just as committed to being _Bucky’s._

“Do you like it?” Steve asks shyly. “‘Cause it’s okay if you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear--”

“I love it,” Bucky whispers. Sniffling, he suddenly beams, exhaling a laugh. “I love it! I can’t believe you did this…”

Steve’s smile grows into a full-toothed grin, giddy and proud. “You can wear it as often or as little as you want,” he tells him. “I’ll leave it in my closet so you know where it is. I just… This doesn’t have to mean you act a certain way around me. It doesn’t have to – I mean, it doesn’t need to mean _anything_ , I just thought… Well, now you have something just from me.”

“I love it, Steve,” Bucky insists again, still touching it with his fingers. Steve doesn’t comment on the fact that Bucky’s very visibly getting hard. “Steve, this is… fuckin’ _gorgeous_ … How much was it?”

“That’s for me to know and you not to worry about,” Steve insists. “I’m just glad you’re happy.”

Bucky tilts the dangling tag up with his index finger so he can read what’s engraved onto it. His pupils start dilating again when he finally makes it out and sucks in a small breath. Quietly reading aloud, he breathes, “ _Little Boy…_ ”

“Mine,” Steve whispers, closing his eyes and kissing along the arch of his neck. Bucky hums; is starting to push his ass back against Steve.

“No one else,” Bucky promises, like he always does. Reaching up behind him, he palms the back of Steve’s head. Steve’s hand sinks a bit lower and he runs his palm down Bucky’s cock, making Bucky breathe out his name – secret and belonging to no one but them, like their very own prayer.

“There’s one at the back, too,” Steve tells him, his voice just loud enough for Bucky to catch. He starts kissing along the collar fitted just right across the back of his neck. Bucky moves in tandem with him, dropping his head forward with a moan. “Right…” ( _Kiss_.) “…here. Know what it says?”

“ _Mm…_?”

“ _Property…_ ” ( _Kiss_.) “ _Of…_ ” ( _Kiss_.) “ _Steve Rogers_ …” ( _Kiss_.)

Bucky exhales loudly and twists around, stuck between Steve’s muscular body and the bathroom counter. Grabbing Steve, he yanks him in and kisses his mouth hard. Steve’s fingers dig into Bucky’s back as he meets each kiss, holding him close – possessively – but not close enough, _never close enough_ , even when Bucky’s getting bent backwards against the counter. After a couple minutes of heated, _dirty_ kisses, Bucky breaks it off and whispers, “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Steve says back.

They’re kissing again. Before he knows it, Bucky’s turning away from the counter so he can walk backwards and guide them into Steve’s room. There’s the softest rattling of the tag on Bucky’s collar – a little jingling, _cling-cling, cling, cling…_ – when he collapses down onto the bed. It reminds Steve of the dog tags Bucky usually wears, only quieter. It’s sweet, like music... only better.

It doesn’t matter that they’ve already fooled around all night. Steve innocently pins Bucky’s wrists above his head, and their kisses slow into something more sensual and passionate, rather than the _hungry_ , almost _wild_ way they’ve been touching each other so far. It doesn’t matter that Bucky was taken apart and put back together more times than he can keep up with all night. He still rocks up beneath Steve so they can press together and Steve can feel exactly what he does to Bucky; how badly Bucky always wants him.

It doesn’t matter that it might be absolutely ridiculous, how impossible it is for them to keep their hands off each other.

Bucky still whispers, “Steve…” and when Steve hums against his mouth in response, Bucky gives his bottom lip a mousey little nibble and says, “Make love to me…”

“I sort of… um… Do you think maybe I can draw you first?” Steve asks, glad that the darkness of the room hides how quickly his cheeks blush. He hasn’t said anything even  _remotely_ like that since high school.

But Bucky doesn’t poke fun at him. Bucky doesn’t make him feel silly. Bucky’s never seen Steve in action like that, and it’s something he’s expressed an interest in more than once. So what he does is smile up at him. Steve can barely see it because his eyes haven’t fully adjusted yet, but he knows it’s there. He knows.

Fingertips run into the golden hair above Steve’s left ear, and Bucky replies, “Tell you what… Make love to me, _slowly_ … For as long as you can… And then I’ll pose for you ‘til the sun comes up.”

Steve’s never sketched in front of him before, and Bucky’s never seen Steve slip into the place he goes to whenever he has a pencil in his hand and his artist’s eye strictly turned on. It’s territory they’ve never explored together, so Bucky can’t know what this sort of talk is doing to Steve… How erotic actually picturing Bucky posing for him _is_ to Steve.

It’s never _just_ been that Bucky’s body drives Steve crazy from a sexual perspective. It’s always been more than that. The way Bucky’s put together is _intellectually_ arousing as much as it is aesthetically. Everything symmetrical and everything uneven, all laced together to wrap up this magnificent human being: Steve’s newfound purpose for existing; the very beating of his own heart.

The human body is so much more seductive and alluring than people seem to realize. Steve’s never just seen it as one _whole_ thing, but also as a collection of incredible, beautiful, _individual_ things that bend and stretch and exist together, work together. He wants to break down and memorize every single part of Bucky’s body until he knows it better than his own.

He gets a flash of Bucky with his back slightly arched, and he can’t stand it – picturing what the contours of his muscles would look like… The shadows cascading across his skin… Every curve of bone and muscle, ligaments and joints… Getting to draw out the plumpness of Bucky’s mouth, and the little upturn in the tip of his nose… The slight waviness to his hair, the strong lines of his jaw, the outline of his nipples…

_Christ, he’s so fucking turned on again…_

Bucky slips his hand from Steve’s grip so he can thread their fingers together. Bringing their hands between them, Bucky presses Steve’s palm against his throat so Steve can be reminded of the leather that now lives there. Bucky’s skin is hot while the metal of the tag is cool. It’s like Bucky’s pulse is hammering away against all five fingertips – beating beneath his entire palm – and _Steve_ gasps, even though it’s _Bucky’s_ throat that Bucky pushes his hand down on.

“I wanna feel you everywhere while I pose for you,” Bucky says, and his voice pitches halfway through into a moan.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve mutters, before crushing Bucky’s head down against the mattress with a kiss. He’s powerless to say no to that. Bucky may be the one wearing the collar, but it'll forever be _Steve_ who's willingly wrapped around this boy's finger. Just like back from day one, anything Bucky asks, Steve will give him – and absolutely nothing less. As Bucky keeps their hands pressed against the collar, Steve starts to roll his body to Bucky's and together, they get lost... _Y_ _ou're mine, you're mine and I'll keep you safe, until the day I die, I've always got you..._

And this time, Steve does exactly as  _he's_ told: makes loves to Bucky, slowly, for as long as he can...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NEXT CHAPTER: By popular request, the next chapter (and only the next chapter) will be told from _Bucky's_ perspective. The boys continue to adjust and learn how to manage a real (secret) relationship. Things to look forward to: Bucky getting sketched, Steve chaperoning at Bucky's prom, and an intense night _beforehand_ in which Bucky craves his collar and makes Steve remind him who he belongs to. Also, subspace (maybe? You'll have to see). :P**
> 
> Everyone here has [shanology](shanology.tumblr.com) and Shannon alone to thank for this chapter xD Without her, I'd probably _still_ be trying to figure out how to fucking end it. (I really struggled with trying to figure out a proper conclusion point for this chapter, and it was only after spazzing out to her that she came up with the final paragraph. That ending was all her genius  <3)
> 
> Literally the visual inspiration for what I picture Bucky looking like in this fic:
> 
> Bearded Steve:
> 
> PORN GIFS/PICS FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE TODAY:
> 
> 1\. My friend linked me to this and basically said, "Tell me this isn't After Hours..." And I fucking love this gif
> 
> 2\. Picture this being the sort of selfie Bucky would send to Steve
> 
> 3\. Yummy...
> 
> 4\. This is how heatedly I love to picture them kissing <3
> 
> 5\. TELL ME THAT DOESN'T LOOK LIKE BUCKY KISSING STEVE FIRST THING IN THE MORNING AND WAKING STEVE UP UGH I JUST CAN'T
> 
> As always, see you next time, sex monkeys! ;) <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's about time we see Bucky's side of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, a few things:
> 
> 1\. I know it might seem a little random to suddenly have Bucky's POV smack dab in the middle of the story, but a _lot_ of people have been messaging me over the last couple months asking when and if we'd ever get to see Bucky's perspective in the story. So I dabbled with the idea and decided to change things up a bit by making this chapter from his POV.  
> 
> 
> 2\. I only intended to have Bucky's POV be one chapter, and then the rest would be back to Steve's. In terms of story formatting, I know that might be a little strange, but oh well lol As I said, I did this for those of you who wanted it, and I actually had a lot of fun writing things from Bucky's side, because I've been living in Steve's head for so long in this story so far. It was nice to change things up a bit.  
> 
> 
> 3\. HOWEVER, the chapter was to include a lot of things, and the word count was just getting _way_ too long. I know I've put up super long chapters before (here and in other stories), but this one was getting to be waaaay too long, even for me. I debated on breaking it up into two chapters and then kept talking myself out of it. However, the document was starting to near 44,000 words and I'm only about two-thirds of the way done, so I was like, "Yeah, no." Lmao. So what's going to happen is: this chapter AND the next chapter will be from Bucky's perspective. Next chapter will be solely focused on the day/night of his prom. If it makes it less strange, just consider this chapter "Part 1" of Bucky's perspective, and the next chapter as "Part 2". To me, it's still all just one gigantic chapter from Bucky's POV, just now it has to be - format-wise - split into two parts. But then from chapter 10 onward, it'll be all Steve's perspective again until the story's done.  
> 
> 
> 4\. You'll notice that I've added 2 extra chapters to the chapter length of this story. One of those chapters is due to the next chapter that will be added. The other is actually a "bonus chapter" I decided to add _after_ the epilogue. Blame Shanology for that ;) She knew the entire plan for what I have set for the epilogue, and she basically went, "Please tell me we're going to get a final sex scene in light of all of that" (given where the epilogue leaves us), and I actually _hadn't_ planned one originally. Thanks to her, I realized one more sex scene between them - given the circumstances in the epilogue - would be a fucking _fun_ time to write, so I decided that'll be a thing.  
>  5\. I'm still in the process of working on part 2 of Bucky's POV (aka chapter 9) and will be continuing to work on it over the next couple days, namely because I originally intended to write this ALL in one go, and I really want to finish Bucky's POV before I go back to the _Titanic_ AU and continue working on that one. My brain works in really obsessive-compulsive ways, so that's the order I need to do things right now. But for those of you patiently waiting for the _Titanic_ AU (namely, the patron themselves), I apologize profusely for the wait. Please forgive me. I swear to god, I am working as fast and as frequently as I can, and it _will_ be the very next thing that gets completed.  
> 
> 
> 6\. Anyone who follows me on Tumblr knows things have been rough again lately. Last week I got prescribed onto antidepressants for the first time in my life (because I hit another REALLY low point and it wasn't an option not to anymore, basically) and I'm currently a little less than a week on them and trying to adjust. Because things are a little shaky right now for me mentally, I am kindly asking to please refrain from any ConCrit or negativity or anything like that right now. If you don't like something, please keep it to yourself right now, I beg of you. Right now, I selfishly just need positivity in my life. My brain is doing a fine enough job of being a Negative Nancy haha
> 
> Thanks everyone! 
> 
> **Note/Warning: Bucky's train of thought is sometimes a little more vulgar than Steve's. In several places where his thoughts are described, he uses slightly derogatory terms (describing himself, Steve, or his/Steve's behavior with words like "slut", "bitch", "whore", etc). Please note that they are not being used in a demeaning way, but an endearing one. Bucky _likes_ feeling like those sorts of things when he's with Steve, as Steve does with him. Furthermore, the words are NOT being used with any misogynistic connotations (meaning, in comparison to a _women_ who enjoy sex, behave wantonly, etc. Rather, the terms "slut", "whore", "bitch", etc. (where they are used - which admittedly, is sparingly) simply refer to _people_ in general who enjoy behaving a certain way during sex and are seen as insatiable. And once again, Bucky uses them purely as positive terms of endearment, and not as shaming or insults.**

“Yo, is that Mr. Rogers over at Subway?”

Bucky’s head is turning instantly, brows furrowing as he asks, “What, where?”

“There,” Peter says, pointing to the lineup of people on the other side of the food court.

Bucky cranes his neck eagerly to get a proper look, but even with his friend pointing in the general direction, the mall is crowded with so many people that he can hardly make heads or tails from where he’s sitting. _How_ Quill can always manage to spot people they know from that far away, Bucky will never understand. The guy could be standing on the moon in outer space, be able to look down at earth, point, and say with a grin, “Oh, there’s so-and-so; I met him at a Taco Bell once in, like, the eighth grade.”

He always seems to be recognizing someone every time any of them are out. Probably because the guy has the attention span of a goldfish.

In fact, the first time they ever properly met, it was because Bucky had been assigned as his lab partner for Mr. Banner’s grade nine chemistry class. Bucky had stared down at the syllabus and started verbally mapping out their game plan for the assignment for _ten uninterrupted minutes_ when Peter finally nudged the headphones of his cassette player (who even makes those things anymore??) off his ears and met Bucky’s expectant stare. His first words to Bucky Barnes were (and he quotes), “Oh, sorry. Look, I’m gonna be honest… I forgot you were even here.”

Bucky could only roll his eyes and reach over to snap the tape player off. He wasn’t even sure what the hell he was even listening to anyways – just a lot of “ _Ooga chucka’s_ ” over and over, and that didn’t really sound like anything Bucky had heard on the radio recently. Peter sighed overdramatically and draped his headphones around his neck, this time listening patiently while Bucky _repeated everything_ he’d just said a second time. All the same, they still got a high grade on the assignment.

Peter’s not exactly an A student – this much, he’s made _very_ clear over the years to his teachers – but it’s mainly just because he gets easily bored, and not because the guy’s dumb. Because he isn’t; he’s actually completely brilliant in his own way. He’s just more of a hands-on sort of person, with a far deeper love for adventure than academics.

It doesn’t matter that they’re all slowly waving goodbye to their childhoods and turning eighteen as the year’s progressing, Peter doesn’t let what his teachers or his mom think deter him when he insists that he’s ‘just not the college kind of guy’. He’s adamant about the fact that, apparently, his plan is to become a world-famous outlaw. Like from the Wild West or something.

Everyone else always tells him he needs to find a dream a little more suiting to someone over five, but Peter will always just smile, shrug, and reply, “Well, that’s what I’m gonna be. Maybe don’t need the ‘outlaw’ part, but I’m gonna travel the world. Why stay in just one place for the rest of my life? That shit sounds boring.”

In a way, that’s actually why he and Bucky eventually became friends. He’s one of the weirdest guys Bucky’s ever known, but loyal as all hell and always a party to be around. Truthfully, Bucky’s always sort of admired the way Peter sees the world; how he marches to the beat of his own cassette player headphones and makes his own rules. In some respects, Bucky shares some of his attributes; in others, he secretly wishes they shared _more_ of them.

Maybe if he did, his stomach wouldn’t be filling up with _quite_ so many nervous butterflies just at the mere mention of Steve’s name, even though there’s nothing about this situation to even worry about. It wouldn’t be the first time Bucky’s wished he didn’t give a fuck what other people would think – that he could just say _to hell with it_ , and not have to hide one of the single most important parts of his life from the world.

The point is, you’d think that Peter Quill knew ninety-nine percent of the New York population by _name_ , given how frequently he’s pointing someone out when they’re in public. He’s hardly ever been wrong.

So despite Bucky having trouble seeing him, if Peter says he sees Steve, then it’s _probably_ Steve.

This is one of those moments where it sucks – _especially_ when Peter notices that Bucky still hasn’t spotted him yet, reaches across the table to place a hand on either side of his head, and turn it in the right direction, saying, “Right there, literally standing straight ahead of you. Third from the front of the line.”

Because then Bucky sees him, and all he wants to do is get out of his seat and run over. Maybe _skip_ over. That’s usually how excited being around Steve makes him, what of it?

It’s definitely Steve. Fuck, he looks so good; because it’s not a school day, he’s out and about in much more casual clothing, wearing a torso-hugging black t-shirt with a pair of shorts. It’s too far to know for sure, but it sort of looks like he’s got his pair of aviators sitting on the top of his head, too. _Christ_. It’s so simple and really, it’s not like the outfit overtly screams of sex or anything… But Bucky’s only used to seeing his boyfriend _not_ in sweater vests and button-ups and fucking _slacks_ when they’re alone at his place.

Bucky suddenly _really_ wishes they were alone at his place. God, Steve does the worst things to him. He knows the way he’s currently feeling is ridiculous, because he’ll _be_ at Steve’s place later that night. He just needs to be patient and wait a few more hours. But that never matters, especially in the last six weeks or so. It feels like they hardly see each other anymore – by his standards – thanks to his parents wanting Bucky at home more often, as well as his and Steve’s agreement that they needed to get back to spending more time with their own friends.

He’s lucky if he gets two nights out of the week alone with Steve now. It’s better than nothing, sure, but Bucky can’t fucking _wait_ for summer. This ‘two days a week’ shit isn’t okay. He spends literally every other moment thinking about him and dying to get his hands on him again. _Hmm…_ Maybe he should tell Steve one night soon that being deprived of him is too distracting. Bucky could probably plead a good case about needing to be nice and thoroughly fucked on the regular once it’s time to start studying for his fast-approaching exams. And the thing is, he’d only be half exaggerating.

Maybe it’s unhealthy, just how badly Bucky’s addicted to this man. _Oh well._ It’s not like he gives a fuck. If they can’t be open about their relationship for any foreseeable future, then Bucky thinks that should give him a free pass sometimes to get away with being as greedy as he wants to be.

His poker face is perfected by now, though. Shrugging nonchalantly, he replies, “Oh, okay,” and then turns back to take a sip from his bottle of Coke. The rest of his friends are still commenting on it, though.

“It’s always super weird seeing teachers outside of school,” Peter comments with a small grin. “You think more of them would be cool with me calling them by their first names when I do, but apparently that’s ‘inappropriate,’” he adds, lifting his fingers into air quotations. Bucky almost smirks at that.

“I don’t even think I _could_ call ‘em by their first names,” Clint chimes in with a chuckle, also staring over Steve’s way. “Feels too creepy. Like, I don’t even remember what Mr. Rogers’s first name is anyways, but at this point, it’d be like learning that, like, someone you called Greg all your life is actually named Phil. Too weird.”

“I know his name,” Peter says with a shrug.

“What is it?” Kitty asks almost straight away, the end of the question pitching into a short giggle.

Funny – she never struck Bucky as the giggling type until she developed the hots for their teacher. His _boyfriend_ , but… he can’t really hold her accountable for that, much as he’d like to cut in and inform everyone there that _they can stop staring any time, because he is in fact taken._

Bucky’s the only one not still glancing over, watching Steve now getting to the front of the line. Picking at the last few fries on his food tray, he says, “It’s Steve. They always put the teachers’ names in the yearbook, remember?”

“Ohhh okay,” Kitty replies. “‘Steve.’ Hmm.” She cocks her head to the side, resting her chin in her hand. If Bucky had a sharpie, he’d be able to trace the stars he can practically see in her eyes. “He wouldn't have struck me as a 'Steve'. Wasn’t anything I would’ve guessed, but... I like it. It suits him.”

“Surprised you didn’t know that already,” Bucky quietly jokes, peering over at her and actually getting that tiny smirk now. “I thought that yearbook of yours would’ve been covered in hearts by now.” Much as he hates it, sometimes it’s easier to direct the focus elsewhere than create any suspicion the moment the conversation turns onto Kitty’s very obvious schoolgirl crush on their English teacher.

“Shut up,” Kitty laughs, reaching across the small table to shove Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s not like it’d ever happen anyway. I’m, like, _way_ too young for him.”

“Oh c’mon, Kitts, haven’t you ever seen _To Catch a Predator?”_ Clint jokes, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “There’s someone for everybody.”

“Dude, what the fuck?” Bucky snaps instinctually, suddenly narrowing his eyes at him. His tone might come out a little blunter than he means for it to.

Next to him, Natasha luckily has his back and flatly adds at the same time, “At least _try_ to have a little class, Barton. I don’t think we’ve reduced ourselves to pedophilic jokes _just_ yet.”

Clint throws his hands up in surrender. “Relax, I was just kidding, holy fuck. Since when’s my sense of humor ever been a problem before? I have said _way_ worse.”

Bucky realizes he might’ve gotten a little too touchy at that. _Fuck_. Because Clint’s right: they all know him, they know sometimes his humor is a little more vulgar, dark, and inappropriate. Bucky’s humor isn’t exactly much better, so for _him_ of all people to be harping on him for it is definitely unexpected. Trying to save face, he plasters a quick grin to his lips and rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair.

“I dunno, dude – I guess it’s just sort of disrespectful to joke about Rogers being a child molester or some shit,” he says. The words sound light, but every syllable hurts him to get out. He’d rather be slamming his fists down onto the table and giving Clint a mouthful about why he’s way out of line to even _think_ about making a joke like that.

But he has to keep his mouth shut… This is one battle he can’t start, and it kills him.

“Yeah, Mr. Rogers is a good dude,” Peter agrees.

To Clint’s credit, he nods and actually winds up apologizing, because he of all people has always gotten along well with Steve. Like Peter, Clint’s liked by pretty much all of the teachers at their school. Bucky knows how well he and Steve had gotten along in the past. It’s one of the reasons he really should’ve known better, back when that whole mini drama with Clint happened. Deep down, Bucky still feels like shit about that whole thing, even if both Clint and Steve have long since forgiven him and moved on.

“Besides, I think I saw him out with his girlfriend once,” Bucky can’t stop himself from adding, if only to ward off _any_ further suspicion he might’ve accidentally thrown onto himself by his overreaction to Clint’s (still horrible) joke.

“I didn’t know he had a girlfriend,” Kitty says, smile wavering as her gaze darts past them all again.

Can she still see Steve? Bucky refuses to look – _fuck, he wishes he could look, that he could go over and give him a kiss hello like he so badly wants to do right now._ She looks a bit disappointed and her sights seem fixed on someone, so… probably. A part of Bucky feels bad that a sliver of him is thinking, _Good_. _Back off, please._

He feels a little _less_ bad when she heaves an overdramatic sigh and says with a smile, “Guess I’ll just have to go back to daydreaming about Johnny Storm.”

Ben, having previously been distracted on his iPod, suddenly barks out a laugh. “That douchebag?” he says incredulously.

(Ben sort of has a thing for Kitty; hasn’t admitted it out loud before, but Bucky’s totally put two and two together.)

He scoffs to himself and with a shake of the head, continues: “All he ever does are the same stupid action films with the same plot, _over and over_.”

“Sometimes they put him on a motorcycle. Can’t forget that,” Peter jokingly adds.

They all laugh and start throwing in more jabs, until Kitty threads her fingers and rests her chin on the top of her hands. She stares Ben’s way, getting a pointed smile. “Weren’t you in line on opening night to see _The Human Torch_ , Benny?” she sweetly asks.

“Oh damn,” Peter hollers, pitching his voice lower.

“Busted,” Clint sing-songs at the same time.

“Oh fuck off,” Ben harmlessly snaps at them. However, when he meets Bucky’s, Natasha’s, and Kitty’s awaiting glances, he folds and exclaims, “It was _one_ time!”

“Hey, y’know, I never really thought about it before, but Johnny Storm and Mr. Rogers sort of look the same, don’t you think?” Clint suddenly says, brows pinched together. Getting an open-mouthed grin, he looks first at Peter, whose eyes are widening, and then to Kitty, whose mouth is falling open as she replies in shock, “Oh my god.”

“Right!?” presses Clint, excited.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Peter answers, slowly drawing out the words before exhaling a disbelieving laugh. Then disappointment paints across his face and he shakes his head complaining, “Aww, man! Why the fuck did you tell me that, Barton? Now I’m never gonna be able to look at him and _not_ hear, ‘ _She struck a flame in my heart… So I burned her assassin ex-boyfriend alive_ ,’” he quotes dramatically, trying to sound as ridiculous as possible.

Bucky watches the three of them proceed to flip the fuck out, while Ben’s still grumbling and going back to whatever game he was playing on his iPod. Natasha remains quiet by his side. “C’mon guys, they don’t look _that_ much alike,” he slowly says.

“Seriously, Buck?” Kitty asks in disbelief, still wearing an open-mouthed grin. Picking up her phone again, she immediately hops onto Chrome so she can pull up a picture.

“I know what he looks like, Kitt, I – yeah, I know what he looks like,” Bucky impatiently says, waving her phone away when she tries to show him anyways. “You guys are crazy. Get your eyes checked,” he jokes flatly. “They look nothing alike.” What he says after that is, “Johnny’s way hotter. Like, break-my-bed-and-call-him-‘Sir’-if-he-asked-me-to level of fuckable.”

What he _thinks_ is the exact opposite. It only makes his craving for it right now even worse.

“I wouldn’t even need him to ask,” Clint jokes in agreement.

Natasha shrugs. No one can see it, but beneath their side of the table, she’s holding Bucky’s hand. He’s squeezing pretty hard. “I don’t really see it either,” she admits. “Johnny’s brunet and definitely smaller-looking. Not like I’ve ever seen Mr. Rogers with his shirt off, but he looks like he’d be bigger.”

Bucky squeezes even harder. She doesn’t flinch at all.

The table seems fixated on this supposed twin conspiracy between Johnny and Steve. But luckily, Clint eventually changes the subject (with possibly the world’s _thinnest_ segue ever), when he suddenly laughs and says, “Okay, speaking of teachers – can I at least joke about Mr. Schmidt? I swear to god, that guy should _not_ be teaching History. Or, like, be around kids. At all. I had him way back in ninth and I'm pretty sure that guy goose-stepped his way out of his mama's womb.”

Kitty laughs, too. “Alright, so I'm not the only one who thinks he might _actually_ be a closet Nazi? Like, for real?”

And then everyone else starts laughing and getting sidetracked in that conversation – and Bucky relaxes a little on the inside, able to smile again and have it be genuine. Subtly, he loosens his grips on Nat’s hand, an she’s the one now to give his a little, reassuring squeeze before he pulls it away altogether and casually drapes his arm over the back of his chair, leaning against it while he listens to his friends and then starts chiming back in again.

The entire time though, in the back of his head, he’s wondering if Steve’s still in the food court or if he’s already left. He wants to sneak out his phone and shoot him a text; not sure what he’d _say_ exactly, but… just let him know he’s also there. Maybe comment on how good Steve looked from so far away. Ask for a picture, even if he’d have to do what he _always_ has to do and delete it right afterwards.

_C’est la fucking vie._

Bucky gets his answer less than a minute after they all finally get up to go. Bucky’s in the middle of chatting with Natasha on the way out, but he still casually tries to sneak glances to little avail as their group is walking through the food court. He’s a little disappointed that he can’t spot Steve, if he is in fact sitting down somewhere and having his lunch.

But then his phone vibrates. Bucky’s laughing at their conversation while he pulls it out, giving it a look without much thought. Luckily it’s become habit by now to always check his phone in a way that keeps his screen inconspicuously shielded from anyone who might be around him. As if Steve somehow just went and snapped his fingers, seeing the unexpected words on his screen flips that invisible switch within Bucky’s brain, making his mouth go dry in the best fucking way. He gulps.

**_I should never let you out of my goddamn sight the second you wear pants as tight as those._ **

Instantly, heat starts pooling down between Bucky’s legs and his pulse starts to quicken. _Shit, that sneaky asshole…_ Distractedly keeping up his conversation with Natasha, he quickly types back, **_So you ARE still there. :P Could you sound ANY more like a stalker? ;)_**

 ** _Lmao It’s a mall, smartass. Hard as it is to believe, other people do sometimes come here on weekends_** , is the response Bucky gets a few minutes later. He’s actually grateful that he and Natasha are on their way to grab the subway and head back to his place, because just a few minutes more and he’ll be afforded more of an opportunity to carry on this conversation _without_ the fear of someone looking over his shoulder and asking, ‘Who’re ya texting?’

 ** _1\. You love my ass, especially in these jeans_** , Bucky replies sneakily; now with a small, affectionate smile curling up one corner of his mouth. **_2\. You telling me you WERENT following me? :‘(_**

**_Lol I told you I was meeting my friend Erik today babe. You didn’t exactly make some genius excuse to come say hi to me either ;)_ **

**_I know I know, I’m just kidding_** , Bucky answers. **_Wish I could’ve come over and said hi though. I hate knowing you’re there but not being able to go sit with you. :(_**

Steve sends back, **_Soon, baby, I promise <3 I have something nice planned for us tonight :) I was thinking we could switch things up a bit_**

That gets Bucky dying with curiosity, but he knows better than to ask. If he asks, Steve won’t tell him anyways. At the same time, it makes him _really_ want to ask anyways. Because then he can start begging, and Steve might start scolding him to stop. That always gets Bucky’s knees a little weak, and he’s been desperately wanting to feel that again. They haven’t been able to have some private time together since Monday.

Bucky needs Steve’s corrective hands on him again – massaging his skin, or turning it a burning hot red with a forceful but doting strike. Or Steve’s arms keeping him warm and protected while they watch a movie – that, too. Bucky would purr if he could so much as feel Steve’s fingers playing in his hair right now, or the sound of his voice innocently whispering, 'I love you, Buck,' into his ear.

Bucky doesn’t overly care _what_ they wind up doing, so long as they’re doing it together. That’s what it boils down to, really: Bucky just wants to be near him again. He misses him.

So he _could_ purposely be a brat just to get a fraction of that now. But Steve wouldn’t see it through when he knows they’ll be getting together that night. He’d just tease the shit out of Bucky and force him to be good and keep his hand out of his pants. Given that Steve knows Bucky’s spending the afternoon with Natasha, Bucky’s not exactly rolling in opportunities to get away with doing that anyways.

So… this is probably one of those times where Bucky will benefit more from being good. _Not_ beg; _not_ provoke Steve’s darker side out, much as Bucky wants it _so fucking bad_. He’d be the one left hard, hurting, and frustrated as hell. Besides, Steve knows him too well – knows when Bucky’s putting in the effort to be extra good for him. Chances are, it won’t go unnoticed once they actually are together that night. Steve will probably even reward him for it somehow. He almost shivers just at the thought.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Bucky decides to behave himself and reply unassumingly, **_That sounds nice <3 Can’t wait, baby. Have fun with Erik and have a good lunch._**

 ** _Thanks gorgeous_** , Steve texts back a couple minutes later. Bucky assumes he’s probably with his friend now. A follow-up text immediately comes in, reading: **_Have fun with Natasha xo_**

**_I will. Sometime next week we should get Subway. I can pick some up on my way over or something. I haven’t had it in forever. What’d you wind up ordering?_ **

**_A footlong oven roasted chicken_** , answers Steve.

Bucky bites his lip, a joke suddenly popping into his head. Fighting to keep from making himself snort, and taps his thumbs off the screen of his iPhone: **_Delicious._**

Steve’s reply is none-the-wiser: **_Yeah it was pretty good :)_**

Now Bucky gets a full-blown grin. **_I meant YOU._**

This time, the response is slightly delayed. Steve was either thrown off by the lameness of Bucky’s joke, or he needed a minute because he just doubled over with laughter. Knowing Steve’s own completely _awful_ sense of humor, it’s probably the latter.

Sure enough, he texts back: **_LOL did you actually just set me up for the world’s worst Subway pickup line???_**

It’s so hard to suppress the giggle that wants to find its way out of Bucky’s throat, but he manages. Luckily everyone else is too busy chatting among themselves to notice. Bucky only pauses to say bye to his friends when he and Natasha break away from the group, heading in the opposite direction to get to the subway station. They only have to wait a few minutes before the G Line comes in.

Getting on and grabbing two empty seats beside each other, Natasha sticks one bud into her ear and stares out the window, usually preferring to go quiet and listen to her tunes whenever they take public transit. Bucky uses the few minutes of downtime to pull his phone from his pants pocket and pick up his conversation with his boyfriend again.

**_I sure did. You love it._ **

**_You seem to have a gross misconception for the things I love then_** , Steve playfully jokes.

 ** _You love ME :)_** , Bucky texts back.

**_It’s true, I do. You caught me. <3_ **

**_…Steve, my KINGDOM to eat your footlong_ **

If Steve’s with his friend, it still doesn’t take him more than thirty seconds to reply, _tops. **OMG BUCK REALLY?? STOP!!**_

 ** _Gimme all your fat-free mayo_** , Bucky keeps going.

**_No more, I beg of you! I almost just spat my water all over Erik, STOP lmao_ **

**_Steve, I’m just asking you to let me eat fresh_ **

**_I think we need to see other people_**.

Bucky can’t help it and starts cracking up to himself right there in his seat, doing nothing anymore to filter it. Natasha glances over at him, but Bucky doesn’t stop smiling down at his phone, sending off his latest reply.

Getting a tiny smile herself, she quietly asks, “Steve?”

Bucky leans to the side a bit so he can rest his head on her shoulder. He sighs softly, gives her neck a little nuzzle with his forehead as he gets comfortable. With the faintest trace of a smile still on his lips, Bucky nods.

“Yeah.”

* * *

“C’mon James, I need to rehearse – are you adjusting your bra in there or something?” she teases from her spot on Bucky’s bed, only partially serious in her tone. Even with a door between them, nothing could diminish that subdued sass perfected by Natasha Romanoff.

Bucky rolls his eyes while he finishes rolling up the sleeves of his royal blue dress shirt to his elbows. He’s only been in there for, like, ten minutes – and it’s not his fault that Steve kept replying to his texts. “I don’t know why you keep tellin’ me you need to rehearse; we ain’t even graduated yet,” he calls back from the small bathroom connected to his bedroom. “You already got into Juilliard, and I’m _pretty_ sure you don’t even need a hip-hop routine.”

“It’s not about that,” he hears her say. “You haven’t read into the course outline; every semester, there’s a mandatory modern dance component and I struggle with hip-hop, so I want to spend the summer getting more comfortable with it.”

Bucky slips on his black vest over the dress shirt and quickly does up the buttons at the front. “Dude, modern dance at that school means shit like _contemporary_. Raven’s cousin went to Juilliard, remember? They study styles from, like, Cunningham and Limón – I don’t _ever_ remember hearin’ something like, ‘And then this one time, _Twitch_ came in and taught our class.’ I would’ve remembered that.”

“Боже мой - you’re so narrow-minded. Remind me why I let us be friends again?” she jokes back flatly. “I know it’s contemporary, wise-ass. My point is, getting myself comfortable with styles _outside_ of my comfort zone will help me. I need to be versatile; good at _many_ things, not just one or two. In that industry, I can’t afford not to. Kay, seriously, are you coming out or what?”

“You’re a few years late on _that_ one,” Bucky quips. All the same, he opens the bathroom door and steps out for her to see. Lifting his hands and then letting them drop off his thighs, he asks, “So what do you think? As good as it looked on the mannequin?”

Natasha’s lying across his bed, propped up on one elbow. Quirking an eyebrow, she gives him a thorough once-over, from his head to his feet and back up again, and pushes herself up into a sitting position. Pursing her lips into a tiny, pleased smirk, she nods. “If dancing doesn’t pan out--”

“Which won’t happen,” Bucky cuts in, completely serious. Natasha’s the best dancer he’s personally ever seen. And just because _she_ may know she’s good and isn’t normally the self-conscious type, Bucky’s always been one of the few people who knows just how hard she is on herself when it comes to it. Sometimes, he thinks that she might not _actually_ believe she has what it takes to make it happen, when Bucky knows that if _anyone_ does, it’s Natasha.

She momentarily closes her eyes, her smile getting fonder; hidden as subtly as possible by just the briefest quirk in the corner of her lips. Giving another small nod, she humbly says, “Thank you. But at least I can add ‘possible future stylist’ on my resume. I told you the blue would look better than the red; it brings out your eyes.”

Everyone who’s been fortunate enough to only know Bucky over the course of his high school life always seem to assume that he walked out of the _womb_ with a knack for fashion. Truth be told, even though Bucky eventually realized that he was gay, it didn’t mean he was automatically blessed with the ‘fashion gene’ stereotype. He and Natasha like to joke among themselves that if you looked at the Barnes family photo albums, Bucky’s life so far could be split into two sections: pre and post-Natasha Romanoff helping Bucky get his shit together, style-wise.

Everything before the ninth grade consists of god awful things like _bowl cuts_ and _iced tips_ in his hair. In the sixth grade, he’d done the whole platinum, spiked out everywhere ‘Sid Vicious’ thing – and let’s just say that Bucky could not pull it off very well at that age, considering that it’s hard to look very ‘punk’ when you pair that hairstyle with sweatpants and a turtle neck. Jean jackets (and not the flattering type that seem to have come back into fashion these days) were also a thing at one point, and Bucky’s pretty sure he wore Velcro shoes until he was ten.

Needless to say, it’s not a time in his life that Bucky’s very _proud_ of, even if he can laugh about it now. If he could sneak every photo of himself out of his mom’s albums without her murderinghim for it, he’d burn every last one and make a ceremony out of it. Rife with a dance of his own and everything.

The only reason it eventually improved was because the summer before they started high school, he’d finally caved and given into one of Natasha’s many requests to take him out shopping for a new wardrobe. That sort of thing had always seemed to come naturally to her, from the time she was old enough to start picking out her own clothes. Even as far back as their preschool days, Natasha seemed to wear her pink overalls, or puppy sweaters, or pigtails better than _anyone_ \- and that included Wade Wilson, who _also_ liked to wear pink overalls, and puppy sweaters, and pigtails, and they could _rock_ those, even at four.

(Wade had very cool and modern parents who encouraged them to ‘be the person they wanted to be’, even from such a young age. That person, for the record, turned out to be non-binary and ridiculously good-looking dressed up as _either_ gender. Bucky was never overly close to them, but they _did_ fuck around in Rumlow’s bathroom at a party back in the tenth grade, and it’d been a pretty good time. Bucky hasn’t really spoken to them since they moved out of state after eleventh grade, but that’s only because Wade’s been so busy being Instagram famous and taking off with a modeling career that sort of unexpectedly fell into their lap.)

That aside, the _point_ is that if anyone could whip Bucky’s horrific lack of fashion sense into shape, it was her – and she did her job well. By the end of the summer, Bucky knew all he needed to know to be able to take his first steps into Shield High looking like he just walked _out_ of a magazine. Natasha’s words of wisdom to him that first morning had _actually_ been, ‘ _I have taught you well. Now go forth, young grasshopper. Make me proud._ ’

He’s been able to take care of himself ever since, but usually when more important, fancier events come up, Bucky reverts back to his pre-high school, awkward as fuck, _‘how do I fashion!??’_ self. Then he always goes back to his senpai, and Natasha provides her guidance. In this case, it basically means that she was the one who picked out Bucky’s outfit for prom.

“Turn around,” she says, making a little circular motion with her index finger, “I wanna see the back.” Bucky does as he’s told and then meets her gaze again when he comes full-circle. She hums – eyes still on the outfit – and nods. “I think it’s pretty close to perfect. I think you can maybe afford to get the pants hemmed just a quarter-inch or so at the bottom, but you don’t _have_ to. Everything else looks great.”

It’s a simple look, really: jet black dress pants and black shoes, with the royal blue dress shirt (sleeves casually rolled up) and a black vest. He’s got a matching jacket to complete the outfit, and he’ll bring it, but he’s not sure he’ll wear it all that much. Natasha points out for about the dozenth time that a tie would really compliment the look and give it the perfect finish, but _also_ for the dozenth time, Bucky tells her he’s fine without one.

He’d told her right from the beginning that whatever clothes he went with, he didn’t want a tie or bow tie, and he’d refuse to wear one. When Natasha asked why, he was quick on his feet and lied; said that he didn’t see the point in it – he’d just feel uncomfortable in his penguin suit for the _first_ half of the night, and then take it off for the _second_ half anyways, once dancing and hanging out with their friends started.

What he doesn’t tell her – or _anyone_ – is that Bucky just doesn’t want anything to be covering his throat. Right now, the only things Bucky will accept around his neck are Steve’s hands, or his collar. His skin feels so bare and naked, and the _need_ in Bucky’s gut only continues to bloom and coil and grow _bigger_ and _bigger_ with every passing moment that he doesn’t get to have either. Since he can’t possibly rely on either option for prom, he’s opting to have nothing around his throat at all. He refuses to change his mind on that one. 

“So it looks good? I mean, like, you think it’s dressy enough? I wasn’t plannin’ on doing much to my hair, so…” Bucky asks, absentmindedly smoothing his hands along his vest as he peers down at himself.

She watches him with amusement, remaining silent for a moment. “He’s going to _love_ it, James, don’t worry. I assume you’re planning on showing him?”

Bucky’s blushing now, keeping his eyes down on his clothes. He can’t help but get a shy smile at the thought – the _hope_ – of Steve looking at him and being left breathless, if even a _little_. Bucky’s not full of himself by any means, but he prides himself on the moments where he can get his boyfriend looking at him like everyone else in the world faded away and Bucky’s the only one left standing.

Granted, it doesn’t take much for Steve to look at him like that anyways – which is part of the reason why Bucky needs a second opinion. He could tell Steve he was going to go to prom in that sweatpants and turtleneck combo he’d thought he was rocking the _fuck_ out of when he was eleven, and Steve would more than likely still tell him something like, ‘ _You’re going to look so beautiful, sweetheart_.’

“Yeah, probably,” he says. Sighing quietly, he sticks his hands into his pockets and then peers up at Natasha with a small, rueful smile. “Sucks he won’t be able to see me on the actual night of, though.”

Natasha returns his smile, her own sympathetic and understanding to his plight. Here’s the honest truth: Natasha knows all about Bucky’s little forbidden love affair with Steve. _Steve_ doesn’t know that Natasha knows. Bucky’s not sure if he’ll ever tell Steve – honestly, all it would do would be get him all worked up and freaking out over the possibility of getting caught. He doesn’t know Natasha like Bucky does, so he’d have difficulty believing that _that’s not going to happen_. Half of the proof is in the pudding: Natasha’s known for the last four months or so, and she hasn’t so much as breathed a single word to anybody yet. And Bucky trusts she never would.

Bucky _sort_ of feels bad for having broken his promise to Steve not to tell anyone about them, but the circumstances had been different back then. It was during that weird time, where he’d already been involved with Steve for a couple months and he had accidentally went and developed some serious feelings for the guy. Whenever Bucky had told Steve that he never meant to fall for him, he _meant_ it – and for a while, especially after Bucky first admitted to being in love with Steve, Bucky wished that’d never happened.

Despite however cavalier he’d played it off with Steve, and even though he’d insisted that he was perfectly fine with Steve not _saying_ or _feeling_ it back, it had fucking _hurt_. It killed Bucky; destroyed him inside, tore him to pieces, to _shreds_ , and then spat all of those torn remains to the wind _every single time_ Bucky said it and Steve had yet to say it back.

The longer they were together, the more Bucky _knew_ Steve loved him back – even if he wasn’t admitting to it. Bucky was never an idiot, he saw it, and he felt it every time they were together. Bucky had even guessed that the reason behind Steve’s refusal to return the sentiment had everything to do with Steve’s belief back then that they could never really be together. But just because Bucky recognized that on a logical level by no means meant it didn’t hurt him any less. While those couple months – strange and complicated a time as they’d been – were still some of the best Bucky’s ever had in his life, they were also the single most painful, too.

And Bucky had to spend every waking second around Steve pretending that he felt the exact opposite. He had always been scared shitless that if he pressured Steve too much, or didn’t look anything other than laid back and blasé regarding their relationship, Steve would get overwhelmed and do what he did best back then: overthink everything, psych himself out, and bail. Steve never intentionally scattered eggshells beneath Bucky’s feet, but at the time, Bucky had been walking on them regardless.

He’d _needed_ to talk to someone about it. It had been way too much to keep bottled up – and the only person Bucky trusted that much was Natasha, namely because Bucky also knew that she of all people had the best chance of understanding. _Bucky_ , after all, had been the only person who’d known the year before when she dated that douchebag DJ from Jersey. She had only _just_ turned seventeen at the time, and Ronan was twenty-six.

They dated for almost eight months, and Bucky spent the first _seven_ of them biting his tongue and trying to do nothing but be a supportive friend. He got by on reminding himself that she was old enough to take care of herself, and he’d keep his mouth shut about it unless she was put into danger. Eventually, she ended it because _he_ was way too immature for _her_. Bucky told her it was probably because he was from Jersey.

Natasha’s only ever had Steve as a teacher once, so she knows him the least out of their group of friends. But she’s always had a keen intuition and been able to read people well. If she’d ever gotten a bad vibe off of Steve, Bucky would’ve heard about it by now. As it stands, she’s already given Bucky her version of _the Talk_ – that all she wants is for Bucky to be happy, and she can tell that he is, so that’s really all that matters to her. In the beginning, when things had been complicated, she had her hesitancies. But she knows the basics of what’s gone on between them in the months since, and now she’s nothing but supportive.

Has threatened that she knows at least five ways to kill a man and get away with it if Steve ever hurts him, mind you, but still supportive.

“You sure you wanna go?” she asks, bringing him back from his thoughts.

Bucky nods. “It’s prom, it’s not like I’m gonna miss out on that,” he says. “Just one of those moments where I wish things could be easier, I guess.”

“You know you don’t have to come to the after party with us,” she reminds him. Natasha’s parents have offered up their place for the gang to come back and stay the night there once the actual prom itself is over. “I won’t be hurt or anything if you’d rather crash at his place.”

Bucky shakes his head; much as he _would_ like any opportunity to sleep in Steve’s bed beside him, Bucky also doesn’t want to look back on such a crucial memory from his teen years one day and regret not spending it with his friends. “Nah, I already promised I’d stay here,” he says. Natasha gives him a look, so Bucky pulls his hands from his pockets and insists, “I _want_ to, don’t look at me like that. I taught you that look.”

“You taught me nothing,” she retorts, now smirking. “I taught _you_ everything you know; don’t twist the facts. Anyways, you look great – now get out of it. I really do need to make use of your basement.”

Bucky smiles and rolls his eyes again. “Whatever you say, boss,” he playfully says, turning and heading back into the bathroom to shed the getup and put on some looser, comfier clothes. “Y’know, I don’t know why you seem to think I can help you,” he calls out to her as he pulls on a grey muscle shirt and starts taking off the bracelets around his wrists. “You’re a much better dancer than me and we both know it.”

“That’s not true.”

“I can’t pirouette to save my life.”

“You’re still the only one out of the two of us who trained in hip-hop,” she reminds him. Opening up the door, she leans against the frame, her right hand on her hip.

“Oh hey, thanks for knocking; you’re lucky I have any pants on,” Bucky flatly jokes, shooting her a look of his own.

She snorts. “Like I haven’t seen you naked a _bajillion_ times already."

Well, he has to admit she’s got him there. There really is nothing they’re not comfortable with around each other. Gesturing for her to move so they can head out of there and go downstairs, he says, “I still haven’t been in lessons for, like, three years. Hope you brought an oil can, ‘cause I’m probably gonna be a bit rusty.”

“I’ve seen you randomly bust a move in the kitchen when you’re making pancakes, and I hardly believe that,” she says, the two of them now skipping down the stairs to the bottom floor. “It’s just like riding a bike.”

“Hey mom, we’re gonna use the basement to do some dancin’!” Bucky hollers. He can hear some bustling around in the kitchen and he’s willing to bet it’s her.

Sure enough, she calls back lightheartedly, “Okay honey, just try to remember that music _does_ travel through walls.”

“We will!”

“Have fun!”

Natasha echoes Bucky, answering, “We will!” as they round the corner and head towards the main room. Bucky’s house is pretty spacious, the basement itself having a spare bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room of its own. Thanks to Bucky’s own dance background, his dad had paid to have the entire flooring of the downstairs living room changed from carpet to hardwood when he was seven, and lined one of the walls up with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Natasha explains what she’s struggling with and how much she’s gotten done on the routine so far, while the two of them work together to push the couch to one side of the room.

The whole routine is mainly being done for her own benefit than anything else, since she most likely won’t actually be using it once she’s in school. Bucky doesn’t often get the chance to take over the role of ‘senpai’ and be the one to teach Natasha a thing or two, so whenever she _does_ ask for his help, Bucky never says no. Not after everything she’s done for him over the years. While she works on moving the coffee table aside, Bucky turns on the stereo and hooks up Natasha iPhone to the Bluetooth.

“So what I’m thinkin’ is, we’ll both do a warm up and then maybe you can do one of your usual numbers to get into the zone,” Bucky suggests. “Then, like, show me what you got so far and we’ll go from there.”

“Sure.”

He finds one of her livelier playlists and selects it to get some beats going. Taking off his socks and tossing them aside, he joins her and together, they start bouncing around and loosening up; doing stretches and shaking out their limbs. Natasha’s biggest thing, Bucky’s always noticed, is how in her head she tends to get when she’s preparing to go into her zone. Because she was raised primarily in ballet – where everything is about technique and a calculated precision – it’s a lot harder for her to actually _loosen_ up and go with the flow when there’s music playing.

To get her out of her head a bit, he grabs her hands and forces her to start bobbing around with him ridiculously; no real rhythm or finesse, just silly hopping around and shaking their arms. It gets her grinning, and the overall warm up gets their hearts pumping and their limbs more relaxed, so after a few minutes, they agree that they’re good to go. Bucky then sets up Natasha’s song of choice, [_One Man’s Dream_ by Yanni](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNdArTwjQZo), while she gets her proper shoes on and secures her long, red hair into a bun. When she gives him the go ahead, Bucky presses play. Remaining silently next to the stereo system, he lets her do her thing – get into her own peace of mind, her _space_ – and watches.

This was the number she chose to do for her audition into Juilliard. Bucky’s seen it a million times – always her audience, especially during the weeks leading up to her audition date – but it never strikes him as any less magnificent. Seeing the way her body moves, the different emotions that transition in her expression, the passion radiating off of her while she spins and bends and tells the unspoken story better than words ever could… It really is a no brainer why she got in. Every time Bucky watches Natasha dance in her element, it reminds him why he’s always been so damn in love with her.

Not romantically, of course. But in every other conceivable way one person can love another – truly, completely, and unfathomably – Bucky’s been in love with her since the day she stole his pack of Gushers, pushed him out of his chair, and walked away without a word when they were four years old. If Steve is his soul mate as far as lovers go, then Natasha is Bucky’s soulmate when it comes to his friends.

She’s panting softly when it’s finished, and like usual, Bucky claps when the music dies out and the routine comes to an end. “Brava, _brava_!” he playfully cheers. She rolls her eyes in response, but her lips are pursed all the same in an attempt to play down the grin that Bucky can see wants to sprout across her face. It’s the closest to blushing that Natasha ever lets herself do.

“Alright,” Bucky announces, clapping his hands together a final time, “take your shoes back off and let your hair down, girl. Hip-hop’s more fun when you can whip your hair around – or so I’ve been told,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows. Scanning through her music again, he says, “Show me what you got so far. What playlist is the song under?”

“Just find _Talk Dirty To Me_ ,” Natasha answers from behind him.

Bucky laughs, hand pausing mid-air as he’s reaching to touch the iPhone screen. “Really? Jason Derulo?” he teases, but he searches for the song anyways.

“Oh shut up, I just like the saxophone part.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say, but _okaaay_.” Finding the song, he turns back around to face her. “Whenever you’re ready – you and your mainstream choice of music, I would _never_ have believed it--”

“James, I put you in a headlock once before and I will do it again,” she threatens sweetly, now giving him a deadly, misleading smile.

Bucky narrows his eyes at her, aborting his joke. “It doesn’t count when I _asked_ you to show me the first time,” he mutters, reaching back for the phone. “Here we go.”

He presses play and the song comes to life. Natasha really hadn’t been kidding when she told him she only had a little bit choreographed; it feels like the song’s just barely started – not even to the first bridge – and she’s stopping and holding her hands up, telling him, “That’s all I got so far.”

On the plus side, it means that _one_ , the choreography is super easy to memorize, and _two_ , that he has a lot to work with. He gets her to run it again so he can specifically watch what she’s doing, and then he sticks her phone in the pocket of his sweatpants so he can have easy access to the song. The only downside about practicing a routine is that you wind up hearing it on repeat, in _chunks_ no less, enough to last a fucking lifetime. Bucky already guesses that he’s going to hate everything about Jason Derulo by the time the afternoon is done.

It’s definitely been a while since Bucky’s danced with choreography, but luckily for him, he was always a fast learner. The biggest note he keeps giving Natasha is that she’s too stiff and needs to allow her body to move a bit more fluidly. For fun, he tries an exercise where they play the song and do nothing but body rolls until the first chorus is over. Though it makes them almost kill themselves laughing, it’s actually incredibly useful.

Natasha starts off with a bit of difficulty, though she’s still got the basic motion down on the first try. All Bucky needs to do is go up behind her, press his body to hers, and talk her through following the flow he has, and she starts picking it up. “Ugh, it’s a damn body roll, _why_ am I even having trouble with this?” she groans when Bucky pauses the track again.

“Because even though there’s precision, it’s a lot less strict than what you’re used to,” Bucky guesses, bouncing lightly on his feet and swinging his arms to keep his body moving. “You just need to trust your instincts and play with it; don’t think about it as much.”

He plays the song again and repeats, “Just don’t think about it,” as he waits for the eight count he’s silently got going in his head and then jumps into the beat at his first in. For the second verse, he tries to show her what he means by improvising a routine on the spot – popping his body and gliding his feet around, _his specialties_ – and generally just having fun with it, letting the music inspire him and determine what he does with his body next.

She watches him with her hands on her hips and that little smirk again. “Yeah, see, but that’s _easy_ for you,” she says. “You’re practically the King of Freestyle.”

“Yeah? And I’ve never seen _you_ go head to head with a new style and _not_ walk away owning the fuck out of it,” he replies, stopping. “You got this. Trust me – you know _ballet_ , there’s nothing you can’t do.” That gets Natasha averting her eyes, unable to keep a small smile from turning up the corners of her mouth, so Bucky grabs her shoulders and presses with a mock seriousness, “You can stand on your tippy toes for, like, _a full minute_ without so much as flinching – you’re an _animal!_ ”

That gets a laugh out of her. “It’s called ‘ _en pointe_ ’, and it wasn’t for a whole minute, you idiot.”

“You’re destroying a perfectly good pep talk, Nat; I hope you know that.”

She shrugs out of his grip, still smirking. “Alright, _fine_ , let’s do this then.”

“That’s my girl,” Bucky says, pulling her phone back out of his pocket. Glancing down at it, he instructs her, “We’ll start from the beginning and then start buildin’ from there.” Quickly shoving her phone back in his pocket again, he readies himself beside her and then looks over. After sharing a brief, affirmative glance, Bucky nods to himself and looks ahead at their reflections in the mirror, waiting for their count before the first verse begins.

“ _Five, six, seven, eight_...”

* * *

Natasha heads home before dinner. _During_ dinner, Bucky tells his parents he’s heading over to _her_ house for the evening to continue helping her on her routine. Since Natasha lives on the other side of the city, Winifred offers for Bucky to take the car for the night if he’d rather drive than rely on the subway. Bucky thanks her over the mouthful of food he’s chewing. He’s trying not to come off as being in a rush, but he sort of _is_. Constantly sneaking glances at the clock on the wall, he shovels forkful after forkful of Hamburger Helper into his mouth, eating as if he hasn’t had a meal in days. 

“Whoah, slow down, kiddo,” George says, his eyes on him. “That’s how people choke to death.”

“I can’t help it if it’s good,” Bucky jokes before taking another big bite of the cheesy noodles.

“James, can you _please_ stop talking with your mouth full?” his mother asks with a sigh.

“ _Yeah_ , Binky, stop talking with your mouth full,” his little sister parrots, reveling in her young age at her older brother getting scolded.

Bucky slows his bites, casting a glance over at Rebecca. He hates when she calls him ‘Binky’. It was bad enough all throughout elementary school when his classmates thought it would be hilarious to give him that nickname, thanks to that stupid cartoon – and it’s not any funnier now. He didn’t even think that show was _on_ TV anymore, or that a thirteen-year-old nowadays would even know what the fuck _Arthur_ was. Apparently that nickname will be taken to his grave, though.

Holding her gaze for a second, Bucky stops chewing altogether, then retaliating by opening up his mouth and sticking his tongue out a bit, giving Rebecca a nice view of the chewed up food sitting inside.

“Eww! Mom!” Rebecca whines, scrunching up her nose.

Winifred sighs. “James, what’d you do?” she asks, this not being the first time by any means that he and his sister have bickered.

His mouth is already closed; the food, swallowed. “Nothing,” he says innocently.

“He stuck his tongue out and made me see the gross food in his mouth!” Rebecca says, the little tattletale.

“ _James_ ,” their mother sighs again.

Bucky gathers more food onto his fork. “Um, I plead the fifth,” he replies before taking another bite. “Besides,” he adds, now covering his mouth as he talks, “she started it.”

“Did not,” she mutters.

“Did too.”

“ _Anyways_ ,” George interrupts, thankfully changing the subject, “is there a reason you’re in such a hurry, James?”

Bucky makes a sound in his throat while he nods, grabbing his glass of water and taking a sip. “You know how I get, dad,” he answers casually. “It’s been a while since I did anythin’ like this with Nat, and it’s sort of stuck in my head. I just really wanna get back to it.”

They buy his excuse. It’s not _untrue_ in itself, after all; that _is_ typically how Bucky gets. If he didn’t already have plans with Steve, and Natasha wasn’t working, they probably _would_ actually be getting back at it and staying up until all hours to perfect the routine, working everything out again and again. He assures them that he’ll be home by curfew, jumping out of his seat and nearly _running_ to the kitchen to dump his empty dishes into the sink as soon as he’s done. Grabbing the keys, he strides back past the dining room – ducking over to quickly kiss his mom’s cheek – and hastily says, “Bye!” as he continues onward for the door.

To his frustration, he hears his mom calling to him, “Whoah – hey, hey, _hey_!”

Pulling on his shoes, Bucky tries not to let his impatience fuck with his tone when he forces a smile on his face and asks, “What?”

“Didn’t _someone_ finally pick up their outfit for prom this morning?” she asks with an expectant, motherly smile.

“Yeah,” Bucky distractedly answers, shoving his foot into the other shoe.

“Well? _And?_ ”

_Ah, crap._

Bucky closes his eyes, willing himself not to groan. He just wants to _go_ already, but he also doesn’t want to disappoint her. She’s been even more excited for him about this than _Bucky’s_ been. Pausing, he stares down at his feet and then exhales the quietest sigh, stepping back out of them. Smiling wearily at her, he asks, “You wanna see?”

She claps excitedly, grinning and getting out of her seat. Together, they head upstairs, and while Bucky’s _back_ in his bathroom getting changed, he shoots Steve a text to let him know why he’s running late.

 ** _Take your time babe, it’s okay :)_** , Steve texts back. **_No rush!_**

Except there _is_ , because Bucky’s missed the ever-loving fuck out of him and he doesn’t get to stay the night tonight. Thanks to his curfew, their night _is_ limited in terms of time, and Bucky wants to be able to make the most of what he _does_ have.

 ** _Be there in no more than 30, promise. Have my collar ready for when I get there?_** he quickly types back.

He’s shirtless and just finishing doing up the belt on his dress pants when the screen on his phone silently lights up again. Checking it, it reads: **_Anything you want, sweetheart xo_**. Bucky bites his bottom lip with the softest sigh, so goddamn ready to be back in Steve’s arms again. He can practically feel the leather already – hugging the skin of his throat, nice and snug… Can feel the temperature and texture of the tag between his fingers; hear the quietest little _clinging_ sound it makes when Bucky moves around.

He hasn’t worn it yet for sexual purposes, and he fucking wants to sometime soon. For now, though, he just likes wearing it whenever he’s over (even though that’s really only amounted to a small handful of times so far) and can cuddle up on Steve’s lap while they watch TV. It’s like wearing his boyfriend’s clothes, only with so much deeper meaning behind it.

Bucky’s also _glad_ and _frustrated_ that he already did his pants up, because Steve’s promise is enough to make Bucky want to slip his hand into his underwear – just a little, just _one_ little touch… But he doesn’t want to waste any more time, and frankly, that’d just be fucking _weird_ with his mom sitting on his bed in the adjoining room, waiting for him. Instead, he just texts back, **_Promise?_** and puts the phone back down to finish getting dressed.

After he’s all done up again, he heads into his room to show Winifred. She absolutely loves it, and confirms that the color of his shirt ‘ _really_ brings out his eyes.’ Bucky makes a mental note to pass that along to Natasha (not that she needs a boost to her ego, but all things considered, he knows she deserves the praise). She too asks if Bucky wanted to get himself a nice, black tie, and once again, Bucky shakes his head with a smile and says no.

 _He just wants his collar. He wants his collar right now so fucking bad,_ and even though he’s grateful to have a mother who cares about him the way Winifred does, he also needs this moment – sweet as it is – to _hurry the fuck up._

Finally – _finally_ – he gets to change back into his jeans and t-shirt and head out. Once he’s in the car and sticks the keys in the ignition, he pulls his phone back out to let Steve know he’s on his way before he starts driving. There’s already a reply from earlier waiting for him.

**_“I will cover you with love when next I see you, with caresses, with ecstasy. I want to gorge you with all the joys of the flesh, so that you faint and die. I want you to be amazed by me, and to confess to yourself that you had never even dreamed of such transports.... When you are old, I want you to recall those few hours, I want your dry bones to quiver with joy when you think of them.”_ **

Steve’s never sent him poetry before… Actually, Bucky’s never had _anybody_ dedicate poetry to him before. It’s unexpected, and gets his pulse racing as strongly as it flips that switch in him that yearns for nothing but to be so, so good for Steve; taken care of by Steve, _touched_ by Steve, just fucking _loved_ by Steve. Already feeling himself starting to get the faintest bit hard, he swallows and texts back, **_Who said that…?_**

The reply is almost immediate: **_Some guy name Gustave Flaubert. It was documented in a letter to his wife back in 1846._**

 ** _It’s beautiful_** , Bucky answers, his heart still pounding.

 ** _YOU’RE beautiful_** , Steve writes. **_Get over here so I can see you._**

**_Yes sir. I got the car for the night and I’m about to leave, be there soon._ **

Pupils already dilating, Bucky drops his phone onto the passenger seat and gets his seat belt on. He throws the car into reverse and only _just_ starts to roll backwards, staring out the back window, when his phone – now taken off silent – buzzes again. Bucky taps the break long enough to give it a quick glance. Seeing that it’s not just from Steve, but a _picture message_ from Steve, is enough to get Bucky to stick the car into park again so he can grab his phone and check it out. Once he’s on the road, he doesn’t touch his phone, and Steve knows that. Whatever Steve’s sent him, he wants Bucky to see _now_.

It’s a selfie. Steve’s holding up Bucky’s collar, staring up at the camera from under long lashes and damn near burning a hole through Bucky just from the heat and _hunger_ in his eyes alone. That’s not _Steve’s_ face… It’s the face of his _Sir_ , so commanding, so fucking _hot_ , it turns Bucky’s brains to a pile of rocks every goddamn time. The tag of his collar is pinched between Steve’s front teeth.

Under the photo is the singular word, **_Waiting_**.

Bucky exhales a helpless sound, his dick _definitely_ scraping against his zipper now from beneath his underwear. For a moment, Bucky goes stupid and forgets what to _do_ with himself beyond gaping down at the picture with his mouth slightly hung open and his cheeks flushing. Quickly turning the screen off, he forcefully shoves the phone screen- _down_ on the seat and then grips the top of the steering wheel with both hands. Closing his eyes and bringing his forehead to the steering wheel, he takes a deep breath to gather himself.

He manages _not_ to speed the entire drive there (by much, anyways). But he also seems to catch every single _possible_ fucking red light known to man. The ten minutes it _should’ve_ taken turn into almost twenty – and Bucky’s absolutely _whimpering_ every time he’s forced to bring his car to a stop, digging his top teeth into his bottom lip impatiently until the second the lights turn green again.

By the time he gets to Steve’s place and parks on the street, Bucky’s full-on _running_ to the front door, almost forgetting to lock the car behind him. It’s almost been a week and _oh god,_ he can feel it, _he can feel it with every fucking step closer_. Maybe Bucky should be ashamed of himself for letting Steve have this much of an effect on him – but then again, he’s always been a fan of shame kink. Either way, there’s no redemption for him, and Bucky’s glad of it. He’ll gladly go straight to hell over this man if he’s allowed to keep his collar and Steve’s grip on the back of his neck on the way in.

His pulse has barely slowed down. Throwing open the screen door, he knocks on the main one so fast and with more strength then he means to, making his knuckles hurt. When Steve opens it, Bucky’s entire stomach somersaults and drops straight down to his feet. He hadn’t been able to tell from the distance between them earlier, but Steve seems to have trimmed his beard since the day before, cleaning it up and making it look a lot neater.

He’s still in that same black shirt and shorts, and his hair’s been getting the tiniest bit longer over the last month, and _Jesus Christ_ , how is it even possible that this guy was blessed with the single most attractive face Bucky’s ever seen? You think he’d be used to it by now, but the sight of Steve hits him just as hard now as it did the moment it first took Bucky’s breath away. Sometimes he looks at Steve and all he can think is, ‘ _My god…_ ’ He’s fucking mouth-watering, even when he doesn’t try.

“Hi,” Steve says with a shit-eating, conspiratorial grin. He’s still partially standing behind the door, with his left hand hidden behind it completely. His right hand’s empty, so Bucky can only assume his collar is being purposely kept from sight to fuck with him a little longer. Steve’s starting to become bolder when it comes to teasing him in the smallest ways that still make Bucky feel like he’s going crazy. It’s _working_.

“Hi,” Bucky exhales. The word’s barely finished being spoken and he’s putting his hand on the door, pushing it open as he strides straight inside and grabs the back of Steve’s head. As soon as both feet are in the house, he’s surging in and crushing his lips to Steve’s, shoving himself against a broad, hard chest. Steve makes this deep, pleased humming sound that makes Bucky’s mouth feel like it’s tingling with the ripples of its vibrations, and Bucky responds by wasting no time – parting his lips and licking into Steve’s mouth with a stuttered moan.

They both blindly reach for the door and go to shove it closed. The moment Bucky feels it moving beneath their hands, Steve’s grabbing Bucky’s wrists in a tight grip – _and yes, oh god yes, he can feel the strap of leather pressing beneath his skin and Steve’s left hand, the promise of it, the guarantee of surrender_ – and closing the door the rest of the way by forcing Bucky a couple steps backwards until his back is crashing against it. His wrists get slammed just above either side of his head, and Bucky’s entire body crackles and then bursts alive with fire and the promise of _flying_ , so close it’s almost within his reach.

It’s like getting that first dose after a dry spell. It floods your veins and makes your head rush, and Steve kisses him so hard that the back of Bucky’s skull is crushing into the door, but he loves it, _he fucking loves it_ , his lungs are shriveling on him and he can’t breathe; can only gasp between kisses and then get whatever air he has left stolen right out of him each time Steve claims his lips again.

He doesn’t care, Steve can have it all – Bucky will willingly give him every last morsel his body can offer if Steve will call him a _good boy_ for doing so. He needs it, _goddamnit_ , he needs it so bad, he’s been so good, he’ll do whatever Steve wants him to do to prove how good he can be.

There’s too much smoke in his brain to think anymore. All time for thought was abandoned the moment he walked through that threshold – he knew it, and he will always embrace it. His body’s getting hotter and hotter and that fire only burns more ferociously; continues to twirl and snap off into sparks that he swears to god he can feel in the tips of his fingers and toes.

Steve’s going to incinerate him one day. Maybe not today, maybe not next week – but one day. Bucky won’t be able to fight it, and what’s more, he won’t _want_ to. No… He will only be able to burn, and cry out Steve’s name like a _curse_ , a _blessing_ , and a _prayer_ as he gratefully dies in the flames.

His lips are being bitten, top and bottom. He’ll feel the soft, warm pressure of Steve’s tongue grazing the thickness of his bottom lip and Bucky will simply let them tip open – let Steve fill his mouth up and make it all his. Bucky’s whimpering because he’s got no brain power for words. Bucky’s whimpering and he’s so hard against the front of his jeans, against the rock-hard bulge of _Steve’s_ dick pressing against his, caging Bucky against the door and rendering him helpless.

He needs this, Bucky _needs_ this – that quenching of every last dire urgency waging war in his body… That profane, inexplicable, and fucking _exquisite_ compulsion to resign himself over to Steve; that thing that buried itself as deep in his bones as deep can get. It lives within him, is a part of him now. Yield to Steve, _his Steve_ , and get to fly above the rest of the world for a few extended heartbeats. Bucky wants his absolution, and only Steve can be merciful enough to grant it to him.

Steve starts burying his face against Bucky’s neck to stamp noisy, open-mouth kisses along its curve. Instinctually, Bucky turns his face to the opposite side, offering _more_ of him to Steve because that’s what Steve wants and _oh my god… Ah…_ he can have it all. Bucky won’t deny him a single inch, not ever. The angle stresses one of Bucky’s tendons, and the sudden heat of Steve running the flat of his tongue along it makes Bucky’s brows furrow, his open mouth slackening a little more with a notable hitch in his breath.

The way it cools in Steve’s wake – that tongue now dipping into the tiny hollow under his Adam’s apple and flicking back out, like a little fucking _kitten_ lick – is a painful reminder of what Bucky _doesn’t_ have on his throat right now. Steve’s lips are trailing back up his neck and he can hear Steve whisper his name, _Buck_ … There’s the sweetest, most delicate pinch in Bucky’s left earlobe when it gets trapped between Steve’s teeth and given a little tug. His face is still tipped to the side obediently. He feels Steve straighten and press the length of his body flat to his, chest to knees, hands still wrapped securely around his wrists and keeping them above Bucky’s head.

“Tell me you want it,” Steve commands, his voice having plummeted to a gravelly husk.

_Yes, please, yes, yes, yes…_

“I want it,” he breathes. His hands flex uncontrollably against the cool surface of the door; back arching as much as it can _away_ from it to try and writhe against Steve in any way that will count. “Please sir,” he keeps begging, unable to strengthen the volume of his voice to anything above a whisper. That requires air, and Bucky still doesn’t have enough of that. “Please, _please_ , I want it, _you_ , I want _you_ …”

“‘ _Put your hands on me, sir_ ,’” Steve whispers demonstratively. He’s rocking himself against Bucky, just enough to get Bucky biting his lip and whimpering brokenly. The slit of his cock is drooling out precome; soaking a wet patch into the front of his briefs from the torture of Steve’s assault. _Oh, thank you, oh, g-god yeah,_ Bucky will sing his praises loud enough to deafen the neighborhood if Steve will take pity on him and not stop touching him for a _second_ right now.

Bucky’s good at following orders. “Put your hands on me, sir,” he echoes back, body and voice starting to shiver.

“‘ _May I please have my collar, sir?_ ’” Steve mutters into his ear next. Bucky licks his lips with a hum, nodding to himself before repeating the question back to Steve. When he turns his head in, he isn’t stopped. Steve pulls back enough to let Bucky look at him, and then ghosts their lips across each other. Bucky tries to lean in an inch but Steve just pulls back, exhaling a filthy chuckle.

Bucky opens his eyes halfway, his lids feeling too heavy to do any better. Steve’s are glassy, with his pupils blown all out of proportion. The way he’s looking at Bucky is feral, _wicked_ – and Bucky fucking worships him, he’s so fucking in love, he can’t control who he becomes the moment he’s under Steve’s gaze like this.

“One more time,” Steve commands, with one corner of his mouth quirked in a smirk.

Bucky’s entranced; immediately does as he’s told and asks again, “May I please have my collar, sir?” 

For a moment, Steve doesn’t say anything. He holds Bucky’s stare and _panic_ and _excitement_ spike along his veins at the fleeting fear that Steve’s about to withhold it all from him again; deny Bucky the right to come until he’s drooling everywhere, too… Just like his cock, screaming for Steve right now – silent, but no less deafening to Bucky’s ears.

But then Steve nods, and it’s almost jarring how much relief Bucky feels at the admission. His parted lips turn up into a little smile, excited and fucking _grateful_ , and Steve smiles back, looking – amazingly – like he’s feeling the exact same way. His wrists finally being released, Bucky rests his hands on Steve’s hips, digging his fingertips into muscle to resist the urge to dip them past the waistline and cup Steve’s delicious ass; tease his fingers in and around his hole…

But Bucky’s a good boy, _he’ll be so good right now, he_ will _be…_ So, straightening his neck, Bucky brings his head away from the door as his offering, staying as still as possible everywhere else.

Steve slips the black leather around Bucky’s throat, and Bucky can’t take his eyes off of him while he does it. The gentle pressure of the strap bearing down on his Adam’s apple while Steve fastens it at the back with nimble fingers, not even needing to look while he does it, feels so fucking nice.

He’s got that pretty little tag tickling just below that little hollow curve at the base of his throat – _Little Boy, Little Boy, Little Boy…_ Ingrained into the metal; the title – _his_ title – seeping into his skin, and nestling its way into Bucky’s heart. This is who he was born to be. He belongs here. It makes him feel adored, makes him feel so _perfect…_ This collar might as well be Steve slipping a ring onto his finger. It all holds the same eternal promise.

The symbol of, _This is mine… My property… Mine to own… Mine to love… Mine to take apart and protect…_

And then he hears the little _pop_ of the belt buckle’s prong slipping into the hole in the leather, the one that gives him his favorite fit. Steve folds the leather strap through the metal frame, and it’s _done_. Now Bucky really _does_ belong to Steve Rogers – from the second he puts it on. That’s all Bucky wants. That’s all Steve could ever ask for.

It means Steve’s ready to take every responsibility on Bucky’s shoulders and transfer it onto his own. Now Bucky doesn’t have to worry about _anything_ … Can just let himself go and _float_ , higher and higher, until he can watch everything from above and not be touched by any harm – not while Steve’s there to keep his little boy safe.

Steve’s giving him permission to fly.

Bucky doesn’t even realize that his eyes have fluttered closed; that there’s a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Thank you,” he whispers. He opens his eyes when he hears Steve make an argumentative sound in his throat, like he disagrees with something Bucky’s said. Bucky doesn’t know what exactly he said wrong, but Steve’s shaking his head with a smile of his own.

He doesn’t get to keep his eyes open for very long – only long enough for Steve to lift his hands from Bucky’s shoulders and frame either side of his face; to lean in and counter, “No, thank _you_ ,” before pressing his lips back to Bucky’s.

He whimpers once, low and delicate and reverently, and kisses him back. It starts slow – but in moments like these, it hardly ever lasts that long. That reminder that it’s been almost a _week_ since they got to touch each other like this is constantly in the forefront of both of their minds, and when they’re hungry for each other like this, they’re _ravenous_. Steve starts turning his face from side to side, quickening the kisses and parting his lips with loud breaths. Their tongues beat together, Bucky’s hands now hidden beneath the back of Steve’s shirt so he can start clawing at the skin.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Steve tells him, completely breathless, as he turns his face back to the right and keeps fucking his tongue back into Bucky’s mouth.

 _God,_ but he could kiss Steve until he starved to death. He’s perfect at it; tastes so amazing. Bucky’s never been able to pinpoint what his favorite part about it is these days – the constant scratch of those tiny facial hairs scraping along his chin, around his mouth… Or how soft and sweet his lips feel. Steve’s mouth is perfect. Not even in a sexual way, though _fuck_ , what he can do with that mouth when Bucky’s legs are spread… But, even just in a purely aesthetical way, Steve’s mouth is as good as it could ever get.

Pretty like a girl’s – Bucky’s noticed that there are a _lot_ of things about Steve that are ‘pretty’ and softer, and they all seem to exist in his face. Everywhere else is all muscle and ruggedness, but his _face_ … There’s a boyish charm there, a misleading sort of innocence, naivety… Well, to be fair, that had at least a _bit_ of merit to it before Bucky came along, and he knows it.

Bucky’s the reason why Steve’s become so filthy, and damn him if Bucky will ever find something in his life that fills him with more pride.

He’s got his mouth hanging open again, not even moving his lips. Just letting Steve’s mouth slot over his and mirroring the motions of Steve’s tongue with his own. Slipping one hand away from the older man’s back, Bucky reaches up and places it over Steve’s left. Never breaking the kiss, Steve keeps the heel of his hand pressed to the back of Bucky’s jawline, but tilts his fingers away so Bucky can thread theirs together and close his own hand over top of it.

Moving Steve’s hand, Bucky lowers it to his throat and then guides Steve’s palm against the center of it. Wants him to feel the collar there, wants him to push on Bucky’s windpipe and make his breath hitch…

“I missed you, too,” Bucky mutters back.

He hears a satisfied little exhale – _auh…_ \- and Steve’s breath is warm against his mouth. What brings this whole thing to another level for Bucky is how turned on it makes _Steve_. When he’d first suggested the whole collar thing, he didn’t actually know if Steve would go for it. To know it was something he actually wanted to indulge in with Bucky would’ve been sexy enough, but the way Steve seems to momentarily forget himself for a few seconds whenever Bucky’s wearing it, here and there – _that_ drives Bucky insane.

To know that he’s so loved – he’s so adored and precious to Steve – that the offering of Bucky wearing something that symbolizes Steve’s claim over him gets Steve that hard is really what matters to Bucky most. Nothing’s as gratifying as knowing he’s pleasing the man he loves and making him this happy just by _being his_.

For a few seconds, Bucky feels Steve doing nothing but panting unsteadily against his slackened mouth while he drags his fingers along the front line of the collar. The tag jostles against Bucky’s skin when Steve brushes it with a fingertip, and the sound it makes seems to do Steve in. Exhaling loudly, he suddenly wraps the entirety of his large hand around the front of Bucky’s throat and squeezes. It’s just fast and just rough enough that Bucky’s head gets what feels like a blood rush, at the same time that he croaks out a choked sound and his cock feels like it swells even _bigger._

Steve knows how Bucky likes it. Knows best. Bucky would be a fucking fool to ever think for a moment that someone else could work Bucky’s body like Steve can.

He only chokes him for the split second it takes to coax that startled little wheeze out of Bucky’s lungs, and then Steve’s loosening his grip and slamming their mouths back together. Bucky throws his hands into Steve’s hair and clutches onto it in fistfuls, now meeting every kiss with the same frantic conviction as he’s getting, rather than the passive obedience he was exhibiting before.

Steve’s hand moves to grip the base of Bucky’s skull. The other sneaks under the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt and slides up his side, rucking it up a bit while he lines his fingers to Bucky’s ribcage and starts teasing Bucky’s nipple with his thumb. He’s not gentle about it, either. He fucking flicks at it and scratches his nail down over it, never easing up as it pebbles up and hardens from the attention; starts to become easily irritated.

Bucky whines, from the pain and from the pleasure that in itself is giving him, and at the sound, Steve grabs Bucky’s entire peck and squeezes it hard enough to _hurt_. Bucky scrunches his nose and moans hotly into Steve’s mouth. Steve damn near _snarls_ in response, a fucking dirty sound if Bucky’s ever heard one, while simultaneously being the richest kind of music there could ever be.

He feels Steve shoving his hand up, forcing Bucky’s shirt to tug up past his navel, spelling it out for Bucky loud and clear. He throws his arms into the air, and his shirt is gone in seconds; whipped behind Steve and into the front hallway somewhere for later. Bucky opens his eyes and watches Steve quickly arch his back and tug his own shirt over his head, tossing that one blindly behind him as well.

 _Christ_ , Bucky could jerk off all night long to the image of the way Steve’s body looks when he bows his back like that and seems to flex and ripple _everywhere_. Every fucking time he gets his first look at those tattoos and muscles again, Bucky’s overcome with nothing but the desire to lick over every last one and then come all over them. He’s always been a sucker for guys with ink, but _Steve_ with ink will probably always blow his mind. Especially that fucking one on his collar.

Steve brings his hand up to slide between Bucky’s head and the door. There’s a sting in his scalp when Bucky’s hair is suddenly being yanked between Steve’s fingers and tugged back, forcing his chin to tip up into the air. Bucky gasps, his eyes rolling up in his head, and then moans, “Oh, _fuck_ ,” at the sensation of Steve kissing and biting back along his neck, his shoulder…

“Undo your fucking pants,” Steve growls impatiently.

Bucky nods as much as he can and fumbles to pop open the button. His hands are shaking so bad that he fucks up on the first try, but then he manages better on the second attempt and is able to yank his fly down. He never knows what’s about to follow when they reach this part – Steve’s hands, or his lips, or maybe his cock buried balls-deep in Bucky’s ass, or nudging against the back of his throat while Steve keeps his head still and fucks his face. The beautiful thing about it is that _every_ option is just as appealing. Bucky would take _all_ of those at once if it were possible.

Steve trails his lips down over Bucky’s collar, and a thrill passes through him. Normally that’s one of Steve’s favorite places to latch his mouth onto him and give him a hickey. But he chooses to keep going and forego it for now. Given the direction he’s headed in, Bucky’s not that cut up about it, especially since those lips _do_ kiss over his left nipple and then close over it. Bucky digs his head back into the wall, even though Steve’s hand isn’t there to force him into that position anymore, and exhales those short little sounds – _uh… uh… uh…_ \- that Steve seems to like best of all during foreplay.

His left nipple is sucked between Steve’s lips; tugged by his teeth. It’s shiny with saliva and practically blood red when Steve jumps to the other one and _bites it_ without any sort of buildup. That makes Bucky yelp – he’d still been fucking soft there, untouched, and now he might be bleeding, _oh fuck yeah_ , did Steve even mean to bite him that hard?

Normally he gets all weird and freaks himself out when he crosses this kind of line with Bucky. He seems to be getting more comfortable doing things to Bucky’s body that lavishes it with pain, without hesitating (or at least, as _much_ ). But the second blood becomes a thing, Steve recoils. It _always_ fucking gets him that way if he gives Bucky beard burn bad enough to eventually crack the skin; always does if he rakes his nails too roughly down Bucky’s back if Bucky’s riding him or getting fucked from behind.

He assumes he went too far and breaks the spell by trying to dote on Bucky like he’s a helpless baby or something. During those times, Bucky _doesn’t_ like that. It makes him feel like glass, when Bucky would argue that he’d been forged from steel. He’s not easily breakable, and Steve seems to get that in _some_ ways while still not getting it in others.

“You’re bleeding,” he suddenly hears Steve confirm. His voice is soft. Bucky can hear the uncertainty creeping in already.

Bucky opens his eyes and brings his chin to his chest so he can look. Steve’s knees are still bent; he’s still partially squatting, face close to Bucky’s chest, but far back enough that he can see the minimal damage done. It’s _hardly_ bleeding, really; Bucky can see the wound and it’s no more than maybe, like, a millimeter in length. Right on the underside of his nipple, pinched open by Steve’s bottom teeth.

It’s fucked up, but he’ll probably ask to where a Band-Aid over it for the rest of the night anyways, even though he doesn’t need one. He likes the reminder – wears them like the badges of honor they are – and _hey_ , it’ll more than likely only make Steve cuddle him _harder_ , and how the fuck could Bucky ever _not_ want that? His way of answering Steve’s comment is to bite his bottom lip with a tiny moan.

Steve peers up at him. Bucky can see it – _there it is_ , that moment of self-doubt. Bucky’s beyond verbal assurance by this point, though. Steve needs to start fucking _trusting_ him when it comes to this shit, and Bucky’s done babying him through it unless he absolutely needs to. So all he does he hold his stare. It only lasts a couple seconds. Steve blinks, and Bucky licks his lips and bites the bottom one again.

This time, he seems to get the message without Bucky needing to say it. That’s a first for them. Bucky can see understanding and then _acceptance_ flicker across Steve’s baby blues, suddenly erasing that tinge of self-doubt. Never looking away, Steve closes the space between them again and parts his lips. Bucky watches his tongue slip out and then rub back against his nipple – that little trace of blood on it and all. Bucky’s brows crease in the center again as his mouth drops back open with a heavy breath.

He watches Steve close his eyes and finally seal his mouth over him, giving it a few leisurely sucks; rolling his tongue along the tiny wound. Bucky’s running his hands along Steve’s shoulders, then cradling the back of his head, all the while tilting his own head back to the door and heaving blissful sighs.

The pace is picked back up when the blond starts mouthing his way down the rest of Bucky’s stomach. There’s a low _thud_ – Steve’s knees hitting the floor. _Fuck, oh fuck, yeah,_ Bucky’s going to get Steve’s mouth. That’s what it seems like he’s going with, and Bucky would start babbling out a cacophony of thank yous if not for the fact that Steve’s now curling his fingers into his waistline and pulling his clothing down, and all Bucky can do is forget how to breathe again.

Just as he starts to feel the fabric of his briefs begin sliding down his cock – only enough to expose the root of it – Steve surprises him by biting his right hip. Bucky cries out. He isn’t prepared for Steve to react to that by _slapping_ his hand down the other hip reproachfully, sternly commanding, “ _Quiet_ , little boy.”

 _Yeah fucking right, like_ that’s _gonna make Bucky be able to shut up._

It only makes Bucky’s next moan sound even more wrecked – sluttier and needier than he’s sounded so far tonight. “Oh god, god yeah,” he breathes, eyes squeezed shut as he mutters to himself.

“I said _quiet_ ,” Steve scolds him again, a little sharper this time. The fucking shithead resorts to option number two, which is to _pinch_ Bucky’s hip right where it’s still stinging and tingling with the sensation of a thousand pin pricks. Bucky’s such a bitch for that, he doesn’t know why.

It makes his balls feel tighter and his heart skip a beat _every_ time. Makes the room spin for a moment. Even makes him clench his asshole involuntarily. The gesture makes him feel _small_ , but he’s safe, he knows he’s safe, and it’s strangely one of the top things Steve seems to have _no_ trouble doing to him. No hesitancy whatsoever – just pinches him every time, as hard as he wants. This one feels like one of those that’ll leave a small welt. _Oh_ , he fucking hopes so, those are the best kind. Just the slightest bit tender; gets to feel them for at least a day or two.

The submissive in him takes over; always does with this particular gesture, like a trigger. Though the sharp and uncomfortable pinch wants to make him cry out again, he instead buries his teeth back into his bottom lip and nods with a high-pitched whimper, his eyes still closed as he tries to concentrate on _being good._

Steve must be watching him again, there on his knees, _so beautiful_ without Bucky even having to look to know it. He gets his reward, and as always, it’s worth it: a simple kiss over where Steve had pinched him, paired with his tender, loving voice saying, “That’s my sweet boy… So good, baby…”

 _Oh_ , nothing else does to Bucky what Steve’s praise does. It’s his sedative. Bucky smiles peacefully with a matching sigh, feeling some of the tension he’s been carrying around in his shoulders all week ease up as his body starts to relax. Pride makes his chest light and those butterflies in his stomach flutter around again. Bucky loves being a glutton for punishment, but what he’s truly a slut for is exactly this. Being good. Pleasing Steve. Making him happy.

Wearing his collar and obeying; honoring the words on his tag.

He’s Steve _good_ little boy.

Steve continues to work his skinny jeans and underwear down his legs. Because they literally couldn’t make it past the front door, Bucky’s still wearing his shoes. They work together quickly, Bucky lifting one foot at a time and Steve sliding them off his feet and dropping them to the side so he can peel Bucky’s clothes the rest of the way off. Patting the outside of Bucky’s left thigh, he says, “Lift.”

Bucky does, now back to watching him. Steve slings his leg over his shoulder and leans in, running the flat of his tongue over Bucky’s cockhead. Bucky wraps his left hand around the doorknob to have something anchoring him, his other hand splayed against the wall to his right. Steve stares up at him, eyes big and wide and deceivingly _innocent_ , even with his less-than-moral intent still showing through, too. Closing his mouth around that tip, he watches Bucky watching _him_ as he starts slowly moving his head forward, welcoming him inside inch by inch.

Bucky wishes he could take a picture of what Steve looks with a dick in his mouth – lips so fucking red and wet, fucking obscene and so damn gorgeous; the way there’s only the thinnest ring of blue left to his fuck-me eyes, and that telltale flush dusting high on the apples of his cheekbones. Steve may be the one controlling Bucky here, but he’s also on his goddamn _knees_ and staring _up_ at Bucky, and _fucking Christ._

Steve always groans when he gives Bucky head; breathes through his nose, and was telling the goddamn _truth_ the first time he told Bucky about not having a gag reflex to speak of. He can have his nose pressed straight into the short, wiry curls on Bucky’s pubic bone and swallow around him _multiple_ times without ever making those tiny little sputtering sounds.

It’d actually been dizzying to feel how naturally it came to him, the first time he blew Bucky. And he’s only gotten better and fucking _better_. Steve’s in charge, but that don’t mean he doesn’t get off on being a total whore for that weight on his tongue and getting his throat stuffed; sucking cock like it’s his favorite meal of the day.

But Bucky’s only _just_ being allowed to enjoy it when Steve stops. Bucky whines out a confused noise. Steve turns his face in towards Bucky’s thigh and nips him. All that achieves is making Bucky whine _harder_ while his slit drips out a small dollop of his arousal.

“Relax, baby, I’m gonna let you come,” Steve promises, chuckling. “Have you showered today?”

Bucky knows what Steve means by that question – _is he clean down there?_ – and is instantly desperate with excitement. He nods. “Yes, sir.”

Steve smirks, his lips still grazing Bucky’s thigh and parting to reveal those perfectly straight teeth. Closing his eyes, he kisses Bucky’s leg again. Then he looks back up to meet Bucky’s gaze, saying, “You can touch yourself for a bit, okay? But you get too close and you tell me. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You can put your leg down.” Bucky does, breathing out another appreciative _thank you_ – for what Steve’s given him and for what’s to come – as he brings his foot back to the ground. Then Steve swats his hip again, though not in a corrective way this time. It’s almost playful, and Steve smiles when he says, “Let’s get you turned around. Face the door.”

“You’re gonna let me come all over your door?” Bucky asks as he turns around, humor in his tone.

“Nope, that’s why you’re gonna tell me when you’re close,” Steve answers from behind him. “You come on my door and I’m going to make you get on your hands and knees and lick it up.”

Bucky presses his forehead to the door, his hands pressed flush to it. He moans at how fucking _hot_ that image is to him – how _dirty_ and _wrong_ it’d feel to be reduced to his hands and knees to lick the streaks of his own come off this door, having to work diligently to get all of it before it got to the floor… Of Steve standing behind him, maybe with his arms crossed, and assessed Bucky while he did it to make sure the job he was doing was a good and thorough one.

 _Goddamnit_ , Bucky’s a kinky sonofabitch. He’s always liked to play it off like he knows exactly what he’s talking about in bed, especially because Steve had once been so inexperienced in comparison. He’d only ever been with chicks – Bucky had literally been every single one of his first experiences with another man. But the truth is, half of this shit that’s turning Bucky on are things he never even realized he _liked_ until he got with Steve. Steve’s been opening his eyes as much as Steve always says Bucky tends to do that to him.

Spreading his legs wider, he starts begging under his breath, “Gimme it, Stevie, _please_ , please, _fuck_ – I want it, please sir…”

“You know what you do to me when you beg like that, Buck?” he hears Steve groan. His thumbs slip into the little crease of Bucky’s cheeks and spreads them apart. This is one of Bucky’s favorite parts: having his asshole exposed like this, knowing Steve’s staring at the single most intimate spot he has. And he knows how much Steve loves eating him out, too. Steve tells him often enough. So he deliberately clenches the muscles and then relaxes them.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve exhales gutturally. Bucky makes a little sound in his throat and does it again. Steve breathes out, “ _Mm, fuck_ ,” and then bites down firmly on the right side of Bucky’s ass, like Bucky’s driving him crazy and he just can’t help himself. Bucky gasps raggedly. It’s not the type of bite that _hurts_ , but the type that gets Bucky’s whole body breaking out into goosebumps. As Steve’s biting him, he hums out a low note, his left hand drawing back and then giving the neglected side of Bucky’s ass a lazy spank; squeezing the cheek and then dragging his nails down it in one fluid motion.

Turning the bite into quick, ginger pecks across his backside, Bucky hears Steve says, “You fucking kill me, you know that?”

“ _Revenge is sweet and not fattening_ ,” Bucky replies back, breathlessly but _coyly_ all the same.

There’s silence from behind him for a moment, but then he hears Steve chuckle. He drags the tip of his tongue down the center of Bucky’s ass before spreading him open again. He sounds _impressed_ when he asks, “Did you just quote Alfred Hitchcock with your ass in my face?”

“You’re not the only one who has good taste in classic horror movies,” Bucky replies, closing his eyes and grinding his forehead harder to the door. Sticking himself back a bit as Steve’s hint, he impatiently adds, “Now stop talkin’ and eat my ass.”

“You fucking tell me what to do again and I’m gonna make sure you can’t _sit_ on that ass,” Steve snaps back, steeling his tone. The effect it has on Bucky when Steve sounds like that is immediate, and his fucking cock is almost at the point where it’s going to start leaking all over the floor. He wonders if Steve would make him lick that up, too. Surprisingly, Steve doesn’t punish him any further for his audacious comment. On the contrary, he actually leans in and licks right over Bucky’s hole, giving him what he wants.

Bucky moans with relief and moves his feet another inch or two apart so he can spread even _wider_. Steve utters quietly, “ _God_ , you’re sweet,” and then buries his face right in there, scratching Bucky up with his beard and going to fucking _town_ on him. Bucky’s been legit dying for Steve to rim him for _well_ over a week now, since that didn’t happen the last time they got together.

Too long, that was fucking _too long_ to wait. He and Steve are going to need to have a talk about that, because every time Steve puts his tongue in Bucky’s ass, his fucking thought turns off, and what’s left that _can_ think can only process the fact that this is something Bucky needs _every day for the rest of his life._ There’s not a single thing Steve Rogers can’t seem to do right with his mouth, and Bucky’s made it _more_ than well known by now that rimming is one of his biggest weaknesses.

He keeps whimpering and moaning, sometimes breathing out, “ _Yeah… Ah, yeah…_ ” Keeps his hand off himself for a long as he can help it, but that turns out to be not very long at all. Because the sounds Steve’s ministrations are creating are fucking crude– wet, slurping noises, and groaning, and sucking, and Steve even sounds like he’s muttering more praise, but it’s too low and quiet for Bucky to make out properly. Then Steve flexes his tongue and starts driving it in and out of Bucky’s body, and Steve starts unexpectedly _moaning_ … And Bucky can only see so much when he tries to peer back to him, but what he _does_ see is Steve’s right arm moving.

Steve’s jerking off with his tongue in Bucky’s ass. Bucky’s never gotten his own hand around his dick _quite_ so fast before, in light of this discovery. Shit, this doesn’t feel like it’s going to take all that long. Not with how worked up he is. He feels like a fucking skydiver without a parachute right now – completely screwed and completely helpless and can only let it happen, without a fight strong enough to put up.

He might very well wind up having to lick the door.

Steve isn’t even using his other hand anymore to keep Bucky spread. At this point, Bucky’s back is arched and his legs are open enough to do the job for him. So Steve pets his hip with his left hand, sometimes reaching between his legs to cup and stroke Bucky’s balls. Bucky will hum blissfully when he feels Steve lightly run his hand up Bucky’s bare back, and then he’ll moan loudly when Steve digs his nails in under his shoulder and makes the way back down a _lot_ less forgiving for Bucky’s skin.

Bucky loses his concept of ‘time’, so he isn’t sure how long they actually keep that up – Steve on his knees; Bucky with his left forearm horizontal against the door and his forehead resting against it. Steve eating him out while he keeps exhaling contented hums, _Mm… mm… mmm…_ Both of them tugging and teasing their cocks, getting closer… and closer…

“Goddamnit,” Bucky hisses reluctantly, trying his best to remember the rule about being good. He wishes he could finish like this, but Steve _said…_ So Bucky warns him in a rush of air, “Steve, m’gonna come.”

“Mhm?” The fucker is still licking at him and hasn’t stopped.

“Yeah, m’close. What do I--? Oh _fuck_ , _mm_ – tell me what to do, sir, _please_ , m’so close…”

This time, Steve _does_ pull away completely. Bucky hears the floor creak quietly beneath them as Steve rises back to his feet, and he instructs Bucky swiftly, “Turn back around.” When Bucky does – never taking his hand off of himself – he notices that Steve is still stroking his own cock, too. Steve comes straight up to him and presses his free hand next to Bucky’s head. Leaning in, he kisses him and then orders with bated breath, “Jerk us off. Both of us, at the same time.”

As he says that, Bucky feels him line his dick up next to Bucky’s and then grab Bucky’s hand to touch them both, _together._ Bucky pants, “Oh fuck yeah” – the last word getting prematurely cut off by Steve covering Bucky’s mouth with his own and kissing him again. They both have been leaking enough precome to make the handjob _mostly_ an effortless slide, but Bucky still turns his face out of the kiss long enough to lick up his palm before wrapping his fingers as much as possible around the girth of both their dicks again.

Steve keeps his left hand pressed to the door. He holds the side of Bucky’s neck with the other, his palm hot and perfect against Bucky’s collar, getting them _both_ off. He controls the kisses and keeps diving back in for Bucky’s mouth, _over_ and _over_ , kissing him the entire time Bucky works them both. Within a minute or so, they’re both stuttering against each other’s mouths; lips open and touching, kisses slowed as they gasp and groan and swallow each other’s sounds away.

Bucky fucks his hand over them faster, making Steve take hold of the other side of Bucky’s neck so he’s now got a firm, solid grip on him. He kisses Bucky harder, whimpering low and needy, peppered between rough breaths through his nose that tuft against Bucky’s cheek. Bucky’s balls start to draw up tight, taut – it feels like – as a fucking bowstring. He moans _higher_ , _louder_ … In his hand, he feels Steve’s veins pressing just as fat and thick against the skin as his own; those few seconds before an orgasm hits where you get harder than you ever thought possible.

“ _Auh, f-fuck_ , baby that’s it,” Steve whispers against Bucky’s mouth; inhales sharply and then starts exhaling quickly, “Oh fuck, _shit_ , fuck I’m gonna come--”

“You gonna come for me, sir?” Bucky asks in a husk.

“Yeah…”

“Me too… Gonna fuckin’ come all over you, sir…”

“Mm,  _shit_ ,” Steve says under his breath. Bucky’s forced to shut up by Steve covering his mouth again and kissing him quiet. Bucky retaliates by moaning long and languid while Steve licks along his tongue – then cutting their little game off with _another_ moan, this one startled and impassioned, when Steve’s hand joins and partially covers his own and helps Bucky stroke their cocks.

It throws Bucky over the edge without warning, and suddenly he’s starting to shoot out his climax all over Steve’s pelvis with a shrill gasp. Thanks to the placement, some of Bucky’s come lands around the base of Steve’s own dick, lubing up their hands and making the slide even _easier_. It makes Bucky sob out a cry at the heightened pleasure, while the sudden warmth and wetness of Bucky’s come coating his dick is what gets _Steve_ groaning deep in his throat and shooting his load onto _Bucky’s_ skin.

It’s hot, and sticky, and Bucky feels it immediately start to drip down his inner thigh – and it’s probably one of the most wanton-feeling orgasms he’s ever shared with Steve… Standing there with Bucky pressed to the front door because they couldn’t even make it any further into the house than that… Bucky in nothing except his leather collar, and Steve with nothing but his shorts and underwear straddling low on his thighs. Both of them looking completely fucked out, but still standing; facing each other with their hands _still_ both wrapped around each other, with each other’s come coating their hands and dripping down their legs.

If only everyone could see them _now_.

* * *

 

After grabbing a shower together to clean off, Bucky looks ahead at his reflection in the mirror, re-fastening his collar around his neck, his towel slung low on his hips. (He does in fact have a tiny band-aid over his right nipple, and the sight of it makes him almost want to preen.) Staring down at his iliac furrow, he muses aloud, “I’ve been thinkin’ about getting a tattoo.” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks, walking into the door frame that connects the bathroom to his bedroom. He’s in a fresh pair of clothes, folding up his towel so he can sling it back over the rack. “Where’re ya thinking?”

Bucky hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps staring at his body. He touches his fingertips to his right hip, running them down the one side of that defined V-shape. “Right here,” he answers. “M’thinkin’, like, a word or something. Not sure exactly what yet. I’ve always wanted one, though, so I thought I could give myself a birthday present in a few weeks.”

“Hmm, is your birthday coming up?” Steve asks, playing dumb.

Bucky smiles to himself, rolling his eyes. Steve knows full well that it’s his birthday soon. The big one-eight – probably the most important birthday he could ever have so far, especially due to what it means for _them._ Steve’s already dropped little comments over the last couple weeks that Bucky ‘better set aside a whole night for Steve and plan to stay over’. Bucky wonders if maybe Steve got him any presents. He doesn’t like the idea of _asking,_ though, so… guess he’ll just have to wait and see.

Yanking the towel off his waist, he balls it up and then tosses it at Steve, chuckling, “Shut up.”

Steve laughs too, catching the towel and then promptly folding it to hang back up next to his own. Bucky passes by to get to his own clothes, strewn messily on Steve’s bed. Just as they cross paths, he leans in and steals a quick kiss. Steve keeps smiling against his mouth and hums, the sneaky prick sliding his hand down to Bucky’s inner thigh and then dragging it back up so it purposely brushes against Bucky’s balls.

Bucky’s eyes open with a sound of surprise in his throat. Snorting, he shoves Steve away and says, “You tryin’ to get me ready for round two, Teach? ‘Cause if you’re not, I’m way too sensitive for that at the moment.”

Steve chuckles again, turning away with a shrug so he can flick off the bathroom lights. Following Bucky into the bedroom, he answers, “I like how you’re basically telling me that you _wouldn’t_ be too sensitive if I _was_ trying to fuck around again.”

“Well _yeah_ , I mean, I’m not fuckin’ crazy,” Bucky says, getting his t-shirt back over his head. “When have you ever known me to turn down sex before?”

That makes Steve walk in close. Hooking the tip of his finger into the small loop at the center of Bucky’s collar, he tugs so Bucky will turn his head and look at him. “Sex with _me_ ,” he corrects. He’s smirking, and the tone is definitely low and playful, but Bucky still hears the hint of possessiveness underlying it. It always makes him feel warm all over.

Bucky smiles. “Sex with you,” he agrees, giving his lips an innocent peck. “ _Only_ you. Seriously though, Steve, if you’re gonna keep this up, you’re gonna get me hard again,” he continues, turning back to his clothes on the bed so he can grab his underwear and pull them back on. Picking up his jeans, he pauses and then playfully asks, wiggling them back and forth in his hands, “Yes? No? Maybe so?”

Steve sits down on the edge of his bed. He lifts a hand and gestures as if to say _go ahead._ “You can put ‘em back on. Gonna need clothes if we plan on leaving the house.”

That brings Bucky to a dead stop. “What do you mean?” he asks, confused.

Steve’s smile gets tinier but more affectionate, like it’s holding a secret. “That’s what I was thinking we could do tonight. I wanna take you somewhere.”

It’s probably a little sad that something that simple can leave Bucky speechless. Going _outside_ together is such a non-event for other couples, and yet this might just very well be the riskiest and most delightful surprise Bucky’s ever gotten. He hadn’t known what exactly to expect when Steve originally told him he had something planned for them, but Bucky had assumed it’d be another innovative ‘inside date night’. They’ve never set one foot outside of a closed, confined space as a couple before.

“Are you serious?” Bucky asks. His eyes are wide - still standing there without pants on – and he’s trying to process this information. If this is Steve’s idea of _funny_ , then they’re going to have a problem. Steve might not understand just how much this offer means to him, and how desperately Bucky’s been waiting for this exact opportunity. Sometimes it’s hard not to get a little cabin fever over the whole thing.

“Don’t be fuckin’ kidding around with me right now, Steve,” Bucky keeps going, speaking fast. “Are you--? Really? ‘Cause if you’re joking, I’m gonna sock you in the jaw, I swear to god--”

Steve laughs, taking Bucky’s pants out of his hands so he can discard them back on the bed. Taking Bucky’s wrist, he gently pulls him over, spreading his knees so Bucky can come stand between his legs. Holding onto Bucky’s hips, Steve nods. “Yes, I’m serious. It’s probably not what _you’re_ thinking, but… I want to show you something. It’ll let us get out of the house for a couple hours without having to worry about anyone we know seeing us.”

Bucky searches Steve’s eyes for any signs of dishonesty. He’s not sure why; Steve doesn’t _lie_ to him, and what’s more, Bucky knows Steve would certainly never lead him on like that. Given their circumstances, that’d just be cruel. Maybe it’s because Bucky’s so strongly conditioned himself _not_ to expect anything like this – at least not for another few years at least. Now that it’s actually being granted to him, Bucky’s gut instinct is to prepare himself for it getting ripped away, as opposed to simply letting himself be _happy_ about it.

Brows creasing, he’s biting on his bottom lip with a frown. Sounding vulnerable, he softly asks, “Really? You mean it?”

Steve clucks sympathetically and reaches up, cupping the side of Bucky’s face. His own smile fades away, understanding sinking in as he registers how guarded and disbelieving Bucky seems to be feeling about this. Steve’s hand on Bucky’s cheek like this is grounding, and he leans his face into the touch with a barely-there sigh, still staring into Steve’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs sadly. “I’m sorry things have to be like this for a while, and… I’m sorry that I never get to take you anywhere… I wish I could, more than anything. You know that, right? I’m sorry, baby, I… I know how hard it is to be cooped up inside all the time. I wish I could take you to a movie every now and again or something…”

“I know,” Bucky quietly replies. He steps in a little closer, so his legs are pressed to the side of the mattress, and wraps his arms around Steve’s neck. “I know it’s not your fault,” he says; strokes the soft golden hairs at the back of his head. “I’m not mad at you.”

He gives Steve a sorrowful but understanding smile. Steve returns it. “C’mere you,” the blond mutters. Wrapping his arms more fully around the small of Bucky’s back, he pulls Bucky into a hug, turning his face in and resting the side of his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky closes his eyes and rests his cheek on the top of Steve’s head, hugging back just as tightly. They’re silent for a minute or so.

“You know I love you, right?” he hears Steve ask.

Bucky nods. “I know. I love you too, so much. I’m sorry… I sort of ruined your excitement about tonight--”

“Hey, hey, now who said anything about that?” Steve interrupts, pulling away so he they can look at each other again. He smiles for Bucky’s sake and shakes his head. “I get it, Buck. I know why you needed the reassurance; it’s okay. That doesn’t mean I’m not still taking you out, alright? It’d take a _lot_ more to change my mind, ‘cause it’s already made up.” Bucky exhales a chuckle, looking away with a small smile. Steve seems to feed off of that, and grins in response. “ _Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride_ ,” he starts singing in a _really_ high and hilarious falsetto.

Bucky laughs louder this time, and tries to cut him off by saying, “Oh god, please, no singing right now--”

“ _Nobody’s gonna slow me down, oh-no,_ ” Steve sings over him, grabbing Bucky’s sides at the same time and starting to tickle him. Bucky jolts – his sides are the _worst_ and Steve knows it – and starts barking out loud peals of laughter, loudly begging Steve to stop while he tries to turn away from the onslaught and shove out of Steve’s grip. Steve just continues singing over top of him and attacking Bucky’s ticklish sides with his fingers, laughing between high-pitched lyrics.

Steve snakes his arm back around Bucky, and then the entire room spins as Steve flips them around so he can toss Bucky onto the bed. Snatching Bucky’s wrists, Steve pins them above Bucky’s head and flattens himself to Bucky’s chest to keep him trapped against the bed. “ _Never let another girl like you work me over; never let another girl like you drag me under_ ,” Steve keeps singing.

Bucky’s cheeks hurt from laughing so hard. “Stop,” he pleads, having to keep pausing as he chuckles some more, “m’gonna get a headache. Stop makin’ me laugh.”

Steve _finally_ stops singing and grins, panting a little. It seems like he’s done for real now, when all of a sudden he dramatically starts singing, “ _I can show you the wooooorld_ \--”

“Oh my _god_ , Steve, fuckin’ stop!” Bucky breaks, keeling with laughter again.

“M’just kidding,” Steve assures him, and this time, he _does_ cut the singing. Their faces are inches apart, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever actually noticed all these tiny details he’s seeing in the depths of Steve’s eyes, the way he’s noticing them now.

“Hi,” he breathes playfully. He lifts his head a little to steal a kiss, but Steve’s too fast and pulls back teasingly.

“Hi,” Steve replies. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest –Bucky can feel it against his own – when Steve leans in to feign a kiss but then pulls back a second time, just as Bucky tries to meet it. “Kiss me,” Steve says.

“Stop movin’ away from me then!”

“You want it, you gotta try.”

“I _am_ tryin’,” Bucky laughs.

“Try _harder_.”

He keeps toying with Bucky, using his strength to outmatch him and keep Bucky rendered useless beneath him; keeps ducking away whenever Bucky attempts to dart his head up and catch his lips. Steve keeps grinning triumphantly and exhaling snippets of laughter, while Bucky makes frustrated sounds, a smile on his own face. After a couple minutes of horsing around like this, Bucky manages to snag Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth. Steve still makes to dodge it, so Bucky bites down harder and hums, “ _Mm-mm_.”

Steve’s lids are a bit heavier. His smile a little hotter now, he hums back and then breathes, “You dirty little cheat.”

Bucky frees Steve’s lip. “Am not,” he whispers, low and suggestive and challenging Steve’s authority. Steve glances up at Bucky’s wrists above his head. Letting go of the left one, Steve lowers his hand so he can run the back of his knuckles from Bucky’s temple to his jaw – then even lower still, to drag his thumb along the jet black collar.

Bucky swallows, his dick hard again against his inner thigh beneath his underwear. His breaths are quiet and shaky with adrenaline, and then Steve’s thumb runs _up_ the center of his neck and over his chin, to his mouth. Gingerly pressing on Bucky’s bottom lip and tugging it down a little, Steve stares down at Bucky’s mouth and purrs, “Dirty…”

He leans in and brushes his lips over Bucky’s. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed with a moan.

“Little…”

Bucky feels wet heat across his bottom lip, Steve licking it softly. That same lip is then pulled into Steve’s mouth and sucked once – _hard_ , like candy. Bucky moans again impatiently. His free arm is still above his head, feeling heavy and sluggish, making his movements slightly lethargic when he gets his hand behind Steve’s head and curls his fingers back into his hair.

Steve speaks the last word into Bucky’s mouth, biting out the ‘t’ sound: “ _Cheat_.”

He licks straight into it and _finally_ kisses his proper, causing Bucky’s previous concerns to fly completely out the window. It’s difficult for him to focus on things like _worries_ and _doubts_ when he’s got Steve on his taste buds. He wraps his legs around Steve’s waist and kisses back just as possessively.

It’s a good thing that Bucky’s more than a little alright with letting themselves get distracted again before they head out to wherever Steve’s taking him. At the rate they always seem to go at, they’ll probably never be early for a thing in their damn lives ever again.

In terms of distractions, though, that’s perfectly fine. Steve is, after all, the sweetest kind.

* * *

 

Bucky’s never ridden on the back of Steve’s bike before. He’s never ridden a motorcycle _period_ – so to say that the opportunity makes Bucky stupidly excited, and probably a lot giddier than he _needs_ to be, is a bit of an understatement. Originally though, _before_ he remembers that there’s a perfectly good Harley sitting in the garage, he offers for them to take his car instead. As he tries to inform Steve, such a setting can provide them with the very rare chance to have sex _outside_ of Steve’s home for a change.

“Is everything always about sex with you?” Steve jokes, shaking his head with a mock _tsking_ sound. They’re in the front hallway; Bucky watching as Steve pulls a dark blue cotton jacket out of the closet and slips it on.

Bucky’s leaning against the wall, twirling his car keys around his index finger; trying to entice Steve with the promise of something _adventurous_ , _dirty_ … Pursing his lips, he quirks a brow with a one-shouldered shrug, never taking his flirtatious gaze off of his boyfriend.

“You sayin’ you don’t wanna fuck me on the hood of my car?” he casually rebounds.

Of course, that makes Steve falter and gives him pause. Clearly the visual it puts into his head is conflicting him – if the way he bites his lip, trails his eyes down Bucky’s body, and then averts his gaze in the direction of his garage uncertainly says anything about it. Bucky smirks, dark and filthy. “My _daddy’s_ car,” he corrects himself, still with that edge of innocence to his tone.

Steve’s eyes snap back to him, widening, _there we go._ Steve has this way where his lips part, and his expression turns to an erotic combination of horrified and aroused, that gets Bucky completely hot for him. Maybe Bucky’s a rotten little shit for using the whole ‘age difference’ kink to his advantage, but Bucky can’t help it if it gets Steve as hard as it gets him. The _difference_ is that Bucky’s never been ashamed of it. He likes what he likes, and he doesn’t give a fuck what anyone but him and Steve would think. But when it comes to Steve, Bucky knows that Steve’s forever conflicted about what that must say about _him_ : that Bucky only needs to bat his eyelashes and pretend to be _young_ and _pure_ and _chaste_ , and Steve becomes putty in his hands.

But Bucky _is_ a rotten little shit. He prides himself on it. Steve can always say ‘red’ if anything Bucky says makes him feel genuinely uncomfortable. So long as that doesn’t happen, it’s all up for grabs as far as Bucky’s concerned.

“Do you wanna take me on my daddy’s car, sir?” he asks. Turning slightly, he presses his back to the wall to open his body up to Steve. Letting his head tip back, he very deliberately roams his eyes up and down Steve’s frame as he bites his lip. After making a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat, he looks to Steve’s eyes again and continues, “Pin my hands behind my back and fuck me so hard I forget my name? Ruin me for everyone else?”

“Jesus, Bucky, stop,” Steve groans, chuckling helplessly. He’s totally flushing a little, though, and there’s _no_ hiding the hard-on Bucky sees beginning to press and strain against the fabric of Steve’s jeans.

“I bet if you hit my prostate hard enough, you could make me forget math,” Bucky guesses nonchalantly, back to twirling his keys. Steve barks out a laugh at that and finally comes walking up to him. Bucky grins triumphantly, convinced that he’s just won the battle. “C’mon Stevie, you know you want to,” he sing-songs.

But apparently Steve has some tricks of his own up his sleeve. He places his hands on Bucky’s hips, gently pressing up against him so he’s just the tiniest bit crowded to the wall. “You don’t even know where we’re going,” he points out, speaking low and soft. There’s a gleam in his baby blues that sets Bucky’s blood on fire, it never fails.

“Then fuck me in the backseat, sir,” Bucky suggests, unblinking as he holds the older man’s gaze. “We’ll find someplace to pull over.”

Grinning with a breathy, deep chuckle, Steve leans in and kisses him. Bucky smiles against his lips and lets Steve lick into his mouth a few times – but then jolts with a delighted moan when his bottom lip is captured between Steve’s teeth and bitten rough enough to hurt. Before Bucky can open his eyes, Steve’s lips are hovering in front of his ear. Now it’s _Steve’s_ turn to speak innocently – _casually_ – when he counteroffers, “Now, see, _I_ thought that we could take my bike… You don’t wanna wrap your arms around me and let me drive you around like the prince you deserve to be? You don’t want that, Buck? My bike not good enough for you – is that it?”

“Oh damn, I forget about the bike…”

“You ever been on the back of a Harley, sweetheart?”

Bucky opens his eyes and meets Steve’s. He shakes his head. Steve’s hand reaches between them and slides up Bucky’s inner thigh. When it cups over the silhouette of Bucky’s dick beneath the denim of his own jeans, Bucky’s eyes roll up and flutter shut, releasing a heavy breath and biting at his lip again to contain himself. _Fuck_ , it’s always so good, no matter how much or how little… Bucky’s such a goddamn slut for Steve’s touch; that man will be the fucking death of him, swear to god…

“I asked you a question,” Steve chides warningly. He grinds his hand over Bucky _harder_ , and Bucky fights the urge to whine.

“Sorry, sir,” he breathes obediently, remembering his place and thrilled as always to be there. “No, I haven’t.”

Bucky can hear the smug little smile in Steve’s voice – feels his breath against his cheek – when the blond coos, “Jesus, baby, hard again already? Everything really _is_ all about sex with you. Get your head out of the gutter, dirty boy.”

“Says the guy touchin’ my dick,” Bucky sasses. There’s a pause between his legs as Steve’s hand slows against him. Bucky’s about to laugh at his own joke – but then Steve squeezes him tightly, and a sharp lick of pain shoots from his dick to every hair on his head, making Bucky finally let out that pitchy whine at the discomfort. God, _yeah_ , Steve’s too good to him; knows exactly the way Bucky needs to be handled.

“I’m sorry, _what_ was that?” Steve hisses into the shell of his ear.

“Sorry, sir,” Bucky moans. “N-Nothing, sir. M’sorry.”

“You’re damn right. Not wanting to give my Harley a chance, back-talking me – if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t want to go anywhere at all tonight,” Steve says, now sounding indifferent again. “I’d say you wanna spend the night bent over my knee, with your pants around your ankles while I turned your pretty ass black and blue.”

Bucky opens his eyes again, pupils dilated. But he laughs as he raises his eyebrows and partially drops the act, asking Steve with all seriousness, “‘Kay, do you _really_ plan on takin’ me out or not? ‘Cause your ‘threat’ ain’t exactly making me wanna behave right now.”

Steve falls out of character, too, reverting back to his dorky self and grinning at Bucky with a slightly guilty chuckle. “Yeah, I guess it’s hard to threaten you with something you’d like so much,” he admits.

“We’re gonna need to work on your bartering skills,” Bucky says. Matching his grin, Bucky releases a little grunt of pleasure before whispering, tone lilting and still breathy, “You’re still touchin’ my dick, Steve.”

Steve peers down between their bodies to his own hand. Arching his eyebrow, he continues to knead at Bucky with a much gentler grip, but his expression feigns surprise. “Am I? _Huh._ Looks like I am.”

“ _Mhm_.” Bucky can’t stop staring at Steve’s mouth. It’s getting harder and harder to care about wherever the fuck Steve wants to take him. He’s starting to make tiny rolling motions with his hips, trying to help scrape against Steve’s hand and get more friction.

Slowly, Steve glances up to him from beneath the crescent moons of long, dark lashes. There’s that misleading _innocence_ Steve’s so good at adorning that drives Bucky absolutely crazy. The reminder of Bucky’s youth – of how _forbidden_ what they have still is and how dirty it should make Steve feel – might be Steve’s darkest hidden kink… but _Steve_ playing the doe-eyed, morally pure and responsible _adult_ is undoubtedly Bucky’s. It makes Bucky feel filthy, and he loves it. 

It brings him right back to that first night between them, when Steve had been so, so inexperienced – and then Bucky went and corrupted him; made him _unfit_ for anyone else. Morally and physically tainted, just like _Bucky_ for wanting Steve so bad in the first place.

He’s ripped from his thoughts – his warm, snug little bubble where all is right in the world so long as Steve’s hands are on him – when he hears that deep, hypnotic voice say, “Hmm, you’re right. Guess I should stop then.” And then Steve gives the tip of Bucky’s nose the most innocent peck known to man, and pulls his hand away from his crotch. Groaning, Bucky lets his head thunk back against the wall, and Steve, the asshole, laughs at his plight as he takes Bucky’s car keys from his hand to leave them on the hook by the front door.

“Seriously, Buck, you’re gonna love it,” he promises, walking back towards him with his own keys in their place. Bucky’s mouth is hanging open. He’s still living about five seconds _behind_ Steve at the moment, 100% _not_ okay with Steve leaving him there all by himself.

“Are you _actually_ gonna leave me with a boner?” Bucky asks in disbelief, gesturing to the very obvious constriction in his pants. “Dude, wouldn’t blue balls be, like, dangerous during a bike ride or somethin’?”

“Now you’re just making shit up,” Steve laughs. Slipping his fingers around his wrist, he pulls a reluctant Bucky away from the wall so he can take his face in his hands and pepper Bucky’s forehead with adoring kisses. “Since you’re so worked up, the vibrations will probably feel nice,” he points out.

Bucky can’t help but smile, _sonofabitch…_ He hums, shutting his eyes again, and complains lethargically, “Mm… That’s not fair. You know I can’t argue with you once you start kissin’ me…” He exhales a huff through his nose as Steve kisses his temple, and it only makes his smile even warmer; his body feeling fuzzier from the affection. “Vibrations, huh?”

“Mhm. Everywhere – but y’know, it’s nicest on your ass. Bet that could get your toes curling right now… Maybe one day I can trying blowing you while you sit on it, and we can see if it makes your orgasm any better. I’ve never tried fooling around with anyone on my bike before,” says Steve.

And just as fast, Bucky’s eyes open back up and he looks right to his boyfriend, his expression falling flat. “Alright, _seriously_ Steve? One more sex comment outta yer yap and you’re takin’ me upstairs n’ we’re sayin’ _fuck it_. Either do something about this or give my cock a chance to calm down for fuck’s sake.”

“Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”

“Mhm, you’re a shithead.”

Steve laughs, kissing Bucky’s cheeks. “Come _ooon_ , you love me,” he playfully teases. Kissing Bucky quicker – purposely making louder smacking sounds with his lips – Bucky loses his resolve and cracks up again, Steve managing to kiss all the mock fight right out of him.

“Only because you buy me things sometimes,” Bucky jokes.

“Oh, just for that, huh?”

“Mhm, you’re like my sugar daddy.”

Steve plays along and says, “Well, now I’m gonna take all your birthday presents back and give you nothing but a macaroni card.”

“Oh, _really_?”

“Mhm,” Steve tells him. “Gotta test your love for me, evidently; figure out now if it’s _me_ you want, or my shitty teacher’s salary.”

Bucky closes his mouth, his smile softening. Reaching up and holding onto Steve’s wrist, Bucky strokes the curve of Steve’s hand with his thumb, tilting his face to nuzzle it into Steve’s palm. “You know you didn’t need to get me nothing, right?” he asks. “I don’t need presents.”

Steve holds his gaze and runs his own thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone. His own smile tapering off to something more serious, he says, “Stop. We’re not doing this again – I know I didn’t _need_ to get you anything, alright? I did it because I wanted to. Besides, they’re nothing fancy and expensive anyways; just a couple things I saw that I thought you might like.”

Bucky’s alright with that. Admittedly, _yeah_ , he’ll never turn down the chance to be doted on by Steve. But he’d also _never_ really think of Steve as his ‘sugar daddy’; have Steve thinking Bucky needed to be spoiled twenty-four seven in order to be kept happy. It’s not about the money or the extravagance of gifts – Bucky just wants to be around him. That’ll always be exactly enough and more.

“Okay,” he says, choosing to simply acquiesce rather than drag out the subject any further.

“Okay.” Steve tilts Bucky’s face up and kisses him again, short and sweet. “C’mon, we don’t wanna get caught up again. I really do wanna take you out tonight.”

Finally, Bucky relents and follows him into the garage. Of course, he’s seen Steve’s bike in there a million times by now, every time he’d go in there for a cigarette. It’s a 2014 Harley-Davidson FLSTN Softail Deluxe (Steve’s told him more than once ‘cause Bucky kept forgetting), and it’s gorgeous; probably the closest thing to Steve’s ‘baby’, not counting Bucky. But actually knowing he gets to _ride_ on it this time, it’s suddenly a lot _bigger_ and a lot more exhilarating than it’d seemed before, when all it’d been up to this point was nothing more than a _bike_. Bucky gives it a look over while he runs his hand along the seat, unable to stop himself from feeling the leather against his skin and being a little disappointed at the fact that they probably _won’t_ get to fuck around on it tonight.

Getting to see Steve Rogers operating a motorcycle, even just in theory, is enough to put Bucky’s thoughts straight into the gutter again. Sort of like the first time he’d realized Steve had tattoos hiding underneath those old man shirts he always wore at school. It all adds up and gives Steve this sort of ‘bad boy’ image that Bucky would’ve never guessed he was capable of having if he hadn’t gotten to see it for himself.

When Steve hands him the spare helmet, Bucky also realizes with delight that those alone will make the two of them virtually unrecognizable while they’re out on the street. It’s kind of like being _right there_ , out in the open for the first time – with the risk of being seen and found out still _somewhat_ present, but unlikely. It’s a safe environment that’s still got the slightest sense of _danger_. Maybe Bucky’s an adrenaline junkie; maybe he gets off on playing with fire. Either way, his pulse is picking up and he likes it.

Steve carefully explains to Bucky how he needs to maneuver on the bike, and how important it is that Bucky listens to what he says – ‘ _When I lean, you lean with me; keep your arms tight around me and don’t make any sudden movements_.’ Bucky insists about four times that he gets it, and then Steve seems satisfied, going to open the garage and so he can wheel the bike out onto the driveway. Bucky watches him, adjusting the helmet on his head and getting used to the _compressed_ feeling he has inside of it.

It’s huge and heavy, and narrows his line of sight, making him feel caged in in an anxious way. But not wanting to look silly or make Steve fuss over him right now, Bucky keeps his nerves pushed down and his sudden concerns on the tip of his tongue. It’s a little bit claustrophobic, and Bucky’s trying to focus on keeping his breathing steady so he doesn’t work himself up. But then he remembers he’s got his collar still snugly wrapped around his throat. He touches it just to be sure; grazes his fingers across the leather and then pinches the tag dangling in the middle. He’s reminded that he’s safe, there’s nothing to fear. Steve would never let anything bad happen to him and Bucky knows it.

“We’re good, you can come out whenever you want,” Steve calls over to him, his voice muffled and his face mostly shielded by his own helmet.

Bucky nods. He’s wringing his hands when he starts walking and heads over to him. Steve uses the handheld remote in his pocket to shut the garage door behind Bucky, and it’s only when Bucky hesitantly climbs on behind him that he realizes Steve’s still a lot more in tune with Bucky’s demeanor than Bucky had thought.

“You okay, baby?” Steve glances over his shoulder and asks.

Swallowing, Bucky nods. “Yeah, I’m cool,” he answers, making himself sound confident. “Just don’t wanna do something wrong and kill us both.” He laughs, but it fails completely in masking that very real fear of his.

“You’ll do fine, Buck. It’s really not that hard,” Steve assures him, sticking his key into the ignition. “Give it five minutes and you’ll be a pro. Just keep your arms around me and don’t let go.”

“Like I’d fuckin’ let go,” Bucky mutters, already wrapping his arms around Steve’s torso and hugging himself to his back – probably a lot tighter than is necessary.

He hears Steve chuckle. “And remember, lean--”

“ _With_ you, not _against_ you, I know,” Bucky finishes.

Steve’s hand lowers from the handle bar to cover Bucky’s and give it a reassuring squeeze. “That’s right, Buck. Nothing to worry about. Trust me, you’ll love this. Ready?”

“Yep,” Bucky lies. He’s _actually_ about ready to shit his pants, and he’s not sure whether that’s due to fear, or excitement, or a combination of both.

Suddenly, the bike roars to life underneath them, the noise combined with the intensely jarring _thrumming_ sensation making Bucky jump. Steve’s laughter mixes in with the sound of the engine, and okay – maybe it won’t take nearly as much convincing for Bucky to get on board with this after all. The way the seat is vibrating against his ass is definitely as awesome as Steve made it sound, even if his legs also feel tingly in a weird way. Mostly, it’s just a rush, and they haven’t even moved yet.

“You _sure_ you can handle this?” Steve teases.

“Just _drive_ , Steve!”

“Okay, if you say so!”

Steve keeps his feet on the pavement to help roll them back and turn them onto the road. The drive has to be kept slow while they head down Steve’s street to get to the stop sign, and Bucky’s already wanting to yell at him to speed up. Steve’s all focus, with his eyes on the road. Bucky watches the back of his head turn from left to right, checking for any oncoming traffic. Then he leans to the right, and Bucky remembers the rules and leans with him. Now on a main road, Steve’s able to go a little faster. Bucky’s latched onto him like a lifeline, but his heart’s also going a hundred miles a minute, and he’s beaming from ear to ear underneath his helmet.

Every person, every car they pass, Bucky’s on edge again that it’ll be someone they know that’ll recognize them. Every time, to their luck, it never is – and Bucky’s body is met with rush after rush of adrenaline. He’s hard as a rock against his leg; pressed to Steve’s tailbone. The constant thrumming of the seat pressing beneath his ass only makes everything more intense, keeps the pleasure dull and constant and _delicious._

It’s all a very heady experience… Not just riding a motorcycle for the first time, and not just seeing _Steve_ handling it with such an effortless expertise, but the complete and total power imbalance this situation grants them. If Bucky makes one wrong move, he can throw the bike off kilter and possibly kill them both – the stakes are literally that high, and it’s no joke. To keep them safe, Bucky must obey Steve’s rules. In doing so, he has no choice but to relent all control and willingly hand it over to Steve. _He’s_ the one in charge of their safety right now, and he’s the sole person at the moment taking Bucky’s well-being into his hands and protecting his life.

If he wasn’t so busy looking around and enjoying the ride, he’d be pleading with Steve to find somewhere secluded to veer off to so they could pull over and Bucky could suck Steve’s cock in gratitude. For now, all he can do to show his appreciation and tip Steve off to the state this whole thing has reduced him to by grinding his hips a little, knowing Steve must feel undoubtedly Bucky’s erection against the small of his back.

Steve says nothing – he’s only really spoken so far to call back to Bucky and check in, make sure he’s doing okay – but whenever they pull up to a red light, Steve will cover one of Bucky’s hands again with his own and clutch it possessively; sometimes idly stroke the tips of his fingers over the top of Bucky’s hand until the light changes and they can pick back up again.

“Can we go faster?” Bucky eventually shouts.

To his disappointment, he faintly hears Steve laugh and then shout back, “It’s twenty-five here, Buck, you know that.”

“Please?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” Steve calls back, leaning to the side – Bucky mirroring his movement – as he takes a left onto the next street. “One day this summer, we can maybe drive a little ways out of the city and I’ll find us a back road; I know some good ones, barely any other cars at night!”

“Swear it?” Bucky shouts.

Steve’s voice is light and bubbly when he laughs again and answers, “Would I ever get your hopes up like that, Buck?”

 _Nah_ , Bucky knows he wouldn’t. The promise makes Bucky feel all soft and wispy inside, light and sweet like his favorite cotton candy. He wishes he could smother his face into the back of Steve’s neck and nuzzle there, rubbing his nose affectionately up and down Steve’s nape in between innocent kisses. But with their helmets in the way, he can only reply by tightening his arms around Steve’s stomach, turning his face to rest it on the back of Steve’s shoulder, and roll his hips once, as much as he can, against Steve’s tailbone again.

In his helmet, he’s practically purring. The sound of the engine swallows it all up – but he guesses that Steve can probably still hear Bucky crystal clear anyway.

It’s not long before Bucky recognizes the direction they’re heading in. Perking up as his eyes grow wide with surprise, he asks, “Are you takin’ me to Prospect Park?”

“Yep!”

 _Huh_. That wasn’t quite was Bucky was expecting (although truth be told, he hadn’t really known _what_ to expect when trying to guess where this big destination would turn out to be). He tries not to feel too disappointed that the ride’s going to be over soon. If it wouldn’t be a complete waste of gas, Bucky would ask him to do nothing more all night than drive around the city until long past Bucky’s curfew. More than anything now, though, Bucky’s trying to figure out what exactly Steve’s big plan is.

He knows Steve, and this seems to be cutting it a little closer to the chest than he would’ve imagined Steve allowing. Prospect Park isn’t exactly a dead zone; it’s usually filled with enough people as it is, let alone on weekends, when people Bucky’s age tend to like to walk along the paths and find inconspicuous places to drink cheap booze and smoke up with their buddies. Steve _has_ to know this, so it’s a little confusing as to why he’d be taking such a big risk. Why _Prospect Park_? Why is that of all places so important for Steve to want to take him _there_?

“You do realize there’ll be other people there, right?” he asks with concern.

Steve doesn’t sound the least bit phased when he answers, “Just trust me.”

The sun’s in the middle of setting, so Bucky tries to tell himself that at least they won’t have long to wait until the darkness of night is on their side. The last thing they need is to run into someone Bucky knows, or maybe a jogger _Steve_ knows, and raise some flags. But then Steve takes a turn that Bucky’s not completely familiar with, and heads down a more obscure pathway. The further they drive, the less people Bucky can see walking around in the distance. Eventually, a few minutes later, there seems to be nothing around them except trees.

Steve pulls over and brings the bike to a stop. He seems to know exactly where he’s going – like he’s done this plenty of times before – because after they both get off the motorcycle, Bucky watches Steve wheel it over to a small opening in the brush. When he walks back out, Bucky can barely see the bike hidden away in there. He hasn’t made to remove his helmet yet, still feeling too nervous about doing so now that he knows where they are. He’s not sure whether to be on edge or not about the fact that _Steve_ hasn’t taken his off either.

But when Steve comes back up to him, Bucky needs to only see Steve’s eyes to know that he’s smiling. He flips up his own screen first, before reaching for Bucky’s helmet and opening up his screen next. Bucky’s met with the crisp, clean smell of trees. “How’re ya feeling, Buck?” Steve asks. “Was that okay?”

Bucky nods. At the same time, he does a little check-in with himself to assess just how exactly he _is_ feeling in this moment. His legs feel a little strange – soft, and still like they’re quivering a bit. There’s also a foreign sense of _emptiness_ against his backside, as if it’s desperate to get the vibration of the engine back. It reminds him of that ache he gets when he’s stuffed full, so beautifully, and then is left gaping and mourning the loss once it’s over. He really liked that feeling of being _alive_ that he finds a car just can’t replicate, now that Bucky knows the difference.

“What – what is it?” Steve asks with a small shake of his head. His brows knit with concern, and before Bucky can answer, Steve’s touching either side of his helmet and asking, “Are you feeling alright in this? Is it too tight? I know it can feel a little scary for some people their first time; took me a while to get used to it, too, I--”

“I’m okay, just…” Bucky interjects. He can’t help but look around again, feeling a little more exposed than he’d like, and thinking that being out there in the open like this, _anyone_ could bound the corner and see them at any second. He tries to remind himself that their helmets are covering the majority of their faces, so the chances of being recognized are slim. But still…

“Are you sure we should be out here?” he continues. “This ain’t exactly inconspicuous.”

Steve laughs, glancing around them as well. But he seems so assured and not at all worried like Bucky when he nods and holds out his left hand. “I’m sure. Just trust me, okay? It’s not that far a walk from here, and then we’ll be fine. C’mon.”

Bucky looks down to that outstretched hand – knowing he will _always_ take it in his own, no matter where they go together. Steve would never put him in danger; never risk what it is they have. And in the entire time they’ve been together, Bucky knows better than anyone could ever guess that Steve’s the cautious type when it comes to him. He’d never bring Bucky out there if he wasn’t one-hundred percent certain they’d be safe, even being in the open like this. So his nerves begin the settle, and with a tiny smile of his own, he reaches out and threads their fingers together.

The scenery is gorgeous while they’re walking, but then again, it’s Prospect. To Bucky, it’s always beautiful there. Though to be honest, he can’t remember the last time he’d gone there at sunset like this. Probably somewhere around the ninth or tenth grade, when he was _exactly_ like one of those giggling teenagers ducking into bushes and little clearings with his friends to sneak a joint, or pound back some liquor one of their older sibling’s agreed to get for them all.

Bucky doesn’t do that sort of thing nearly as frequently anymore, and now he finds it sort of laughable that he and his gang had done so much sneaking around back then just to have a good time. He’d considered himself quite the ‘rebel’ back then – but, then again, most people that age do. Now, on the other hand, they just do their ‘sneaking’ in plain sight; drinking in basements and buying plenty of Visine to mask their red eyes if they happen to go home still stoned.

Casual chit-chat is a lot more amusing with their helmets still on. That claustrophobic feeling is mostly gone, and though Bucky’s constantly _aware_ of the way it feels caged over his head, it doesn’t bother him anymore. All of _one_ jogger passes by them, and when Bucky sees them approaching, he’s stiffening from head to toe; heart lodging in his mouth. Even Steve’s hand seems to go clammy against his, like neither of them know whether to let go or hold on tighter.

But then the jogger passes them by without so much as a glance in their direction. Bucky releases the air in his lungs, and before he can wait to see if Steve will comment on it or not, he quietly asks, “Okay, you know I wanna see where you’re takin’ me – you know I do, but… is it much further? I’m a little freaked out right now – I’m sorry, I don’t wanna ruin this or nothin’, I just…”

Next to him, Steve nods. This time, Bucky _does_ hear some anxiety in his voice, but unlike him, Steve’s still mostly calm. “I know, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you here…” Steve then _stops_ , looking off to the right before pausing and then glancing at the way they came. Now seeming uncertain, Bucky hears him sigh to himself. “Do you wanna head back?”

“Well… how much further is it? I mean, are we close?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, it’s just through there,” he says, pointing off to the right where he’d been looking seconds before. “Once we’re in there, I’d be _really_ surprised if we saw anyone. I’ve never run into anyone in there before. But…” He looks back over to Bucky. “Do you want to go, Buck? I won’t be offended if you say you wanna go. I – I’m sorry, I should’ve run this by you first.”

There’s no one around them at this point; not even in sight. The longer they continue to stand there so Bucky can make up his mind, the more chance they give for another random person to come by. “No, it’s okay, don’t apologize,” Bucky says, distractedly albeit still just as sincerely as he glances from side to side again. “Lemme just… one sec, I’m just thinking…”

It’s only a couple minutes back to Steve’s bike. But from the sounds of it, it’s an even shorter distance to wherever Steve wants to take him. In terms of getting off the pathway and away from any potential on-comers, that’s actually the better choice, logically. Add to that the fact that Bucky truly _does_ want to know what Steve’s up to, and it only makes sense for him to answer, “Okay, let’s keep going.”

“You sure?”

Bucky nods, wishing Steve could see his smile to know that Bucky means it. Instead, he does the only thing he can at the moment: he tightens his grip on Steve’s hand to give it a squeeze, before walking in and placing his other hand on Steve’s shoulder. Coming in close, Bucky lightly knocks the front of his helmet off of Steve’s. Steve blinks in surprise, not having expected that, and then starts laughing.

“What the fuck was that?”

Bucky giggles. “That was me not bein’ able to kiss you right now. I really _am_ glad you brought me here, okay? M’sorry for being so paranoid. I wanna keep going, so let’s keep going.”

After holding his gaze for a few seconds, Steve nods and turns to resume walking. They turn off the path and start heading through the bushes, and the helmet turns out to be the only thing stopping Bucky from poking his eye out on hanging branches. He has absolutely no idea where exactly they’re heading, and he jokes, “You ain’t planning on revealing that you’re really some sort of serial killer, are ya? Draggin’ me out here to take my skin for a lampshade?”

Ahead of him, still holding Bucky’s hand as he guides him along, Steve lets out another laugh. “Oh yeah – that’s exactly my plan. You’ve figured it all out.”

“I knew it,” Bucky deadpans. “All these months, you’ve been butterin’ me up so I wouldn’t suspect nothing. This is how it ends, the great Bucky Barnes legacy.”

“You have to at least give me some credit,” Steve replies, “seven months is a fucking _long_ time to keep up the act. You don’t know _how_ many times I almost slipped up.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Hey, _you_ made the joke, not me.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows and nods to himself. “So I guess the question is: do I scream _now_ , or _later_?”

Steve’s footsteps slow down, and Bucky almost walks right into him. Steve lets go of his hand and winds up sliding his own helmet off. It’s left his golden hair messed up, reminding Bucky of whenever he pulls on it. _Fuck_ , he’s so adorable when his hair’s like that. “Oh, don’t you worry,” Steve says, putting his helmet down so he can pull Bucky’s off next for him. Cradling it under one arm, Steve pinches Bucky’s chin between his index finger and his thumb and leans in. “You’ll be screaming later. I’ll make sure of it.”

_Oh Christ, yeah…_

Bucky bites his lip, exhaling a short and satisfied hum as his lips turn up into another smile. “Will you now?” he plays along. His voice is all breath. Swear to god, if Steve decides to fuck him out here after all, Bucky will have absolutely _no_ complaints. “Thought you told me to get my head out of the gutter.”

“I did – I never said _anything_ about me having to do that,” Steve counters, right before giving Bucky’s lips a modest kiss. “C’mon, dirty boy. We’re here.” And then the bastard turns away _again_ , leaving Bucky with the beginnings of another hard-on that won’t get any tending to, _again_ …

“M’starting to think you really _are_ gonna kill me,” he grumbles, watching Steve bend down to pick up his helmet before carrying on ahead. Steve doesn’t address that comment, but Bucky’s sure he also didn’t miss it. He can’t help but hope that he’ll pay for that in some way later, probably once they’re back at Steve’s place.

A couple more steps and Bucky stumbles out of the thick brush, only to look ahead of him and be left completely stunned. What he’s met with is a small clearing, surrounded by trees and filled with a tiny stream in the center. He never knew this part of the park existed, namely because he’s never really given much thought to veering off the regular walkways and paths before.

The sky is a like some delicate Impressionist painting hanging above them – all oranges and pinks and yellows melting into each other. It’s nothing but calmness and serenity in this small, hidden slice of paradise. The only sound comes from the small waterfall that’s running – creating the miniature lake in front of them – off a small hillside, the natural archway surrounded by rocks of different sizes. Bucky feels like he just walked straight into a fairy tale.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

Off to his right, Steve disposes the helmets in some bushes with the exact same sense of _routine_ as he’d done with the bike, like he’s done this dozens of times in the past. Like that spot is _designated_ for his helmet, and he’s used to hiding it there. “I know, right?” he replies, grinning as he comes over to him. “I love this place. Can’t say for sure that I’m the only one that knows about it, ‘cause that’s probably not true. But… I’ve never seen anyone else here in all the years I’ve come here. Let’s just pretend and say you’re one of a select few.”

He’s coming around Bucky and wrapping his arms around his lower stomach. Bucky instinctually wraps his own arms around Steve’s, letting his weight rest back into him. Still, he frowns and tries not to sound sour when he immaturely asks, “You mean you brought your _girlfriends_ here before?”

“Did I say that?” Steve asks, not sounding offended. Instead, he’s hunching a bit so he can cuddle his face against the side of Bucky’s neck, into his collar, before kissing at the back of his jaw.

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and smiling with relief. Tilting his head to the side a bit so Steve has more access to his neck if he wants it, Bucky hums languidly again and then murmurs, “Sorry… Can’t help it.”

“I know, you just want me all to yourself,” Steve jokes softly.

Bucky feels the gentle, plush sensation of Steve’s lips pressing against the apple of his cheek, and his lips part; smile warming as it turns into a grin. “You’re right, I _do_. Am I selfish?”

“Yeah.” Steve kisses his temple; has a smile in his voice when he continues, “But I’m a hypocrite. I don’t feel like sharing you either, even though I have to.”

“So is this where you wanted to take me?” Bucky asks, opening his eyes to stare back at the magnificent little hiding spot they’ve got all to themselves. “You wanna watch the sunset from here or somethin’?”

“Sun’s already pretty much done that,” Steve says. “This isn’t it, though. I actually wanted to take you…” Lifting his right hand, Steve surprises Bucky by pointing _at_ the small waterfall. “…in there.” Still smiling, Bucky’s brows furrow with a lack of understanding, looking first to where Steve’s pointing before peering to Steve himself. Steve exhales a brief chuckle, backing off so he can take Bucky’s hand again and then nod towards it. “C’mon,” he murmurs excitedly.

Carefully stepping across the rocks, Steve only lets go of Bucky’s hand so he can remove his jacket and leave it off to the side of the small, natural stone arch of the waterfall. When he looks to Bucky, he gestures down to Bucky’s own coat and says, “You might wanna take that off if you don’t want it getting wet.”

“We’re goin’ _in_ there?” Bucky asks, completely confused.

“Not that far in, just right on the other side – trust me, c’mon,” Steve encourages him.

He doesn’t need much convincing, really. His question came more from simply needing clarification rather than feeling hesitant. He’s _not_ hesitant, actually; he’s never gone and sat inside a waterfall before, even if it’s a small one in Prospect Park, so he’s fucking excited. His jacket’s off and piled on top of Steve’s less than ten seconds after Steve finishes talking. Steve takes his hand again and they continue to inch their way closer, being mindful of their footing on the rocks.

When they’re right beside the waterfall, Steve warns him playfully, “I think it goes without saying that you _are_ going to get wet from this. So if you’d rather not, now’s the time to speak up.”

Bucky plays stupid. “Wet? Really? You mean _wet_ like this?” Sticking his hand out quickly, he cups his palm under the fall and then tosses the water he’s gathered at Steve. Steve’s mouth falls open into a bewildered grin, glancing down at himself and then to Bucky. Bucky smirks and shrugs one shoulder. His hand is back under the cold, fresh water. “Or, did you mean like _this_?” he innocently asks, lifting his hand and then tilting it _over_ Steve’s head, letting the small handful dump into his hair.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and laughs as the water trickles in thin droplets down his forehead, over his face. Shaking his head quickly like a mutt, Bucky’s laughter joins his as he’s misted with some of that water. Steve grabs him around the waist and threatens emptily, “You want me to throw you in? Huh? That what you want?” as Bucky squeals, laughing harder and trying to get away. He would not put it past Steve to do exactly that, even though the water’s pretty shallow.

His hands wind up pressed to Steve’s chest, and all that happens is that Steve palms the back of his head and ducks down, catching Bucky’s mouth and kissing him heatedly. Right there, in this private little nook of nature – but still _outside_ ,for all intents and purposes. Out in the open, where Bucky can pretend for a short time that they aren’t _hiding_. That other arm around his lower back tightens, pulling Bucky harder against Steve’s front, and Bucky kisses back as he reaches up and takes hold of the side of Steve’s face.

They allow a couple minutes to drain away like this, basking in the way they touch and taste each other – all lips and teeth and tongues; breathing quiet and shallow between kisses, or heavy and shaky between others – without the confines of four walls surrounding them. This is the closest to _free_ that Bucky’s ever felt in his life. If they could stay there forever, Bucky wouldn’t mind.

Eventually, Steve starts randomly chuckling against his mouth. “What?” Bucky stops kissing him to ask, eyes still closed and kissing him straight away again as soon as he’s finished the question.

“Nothing, I just…” Steve’s shoulders heave with another low laugh. “I don’t think we’ve ever been able to get a _single_ thing done without getting distracted a million times first.”

The first thing Bucky’s brain does is try to find an example so he can say, ‘ _No, there was this one time…_ ’ or ‘ _Nuh-uh, remember when we…?_ ’ Except all he does is draw a blank. So he can only begin laughing right along with Steve, admitting that he cannot, in fact, recall a time when that exact thing hasn’t happened before.

Steve’s laughter gets mixed in with a small groan, and Bucky’s dick pulses uncontrollably when Steve admits against his mouth, “Fuck, sometimes you make me feel like a fucking teenager again; I never wanna take my hands off you for a _second_ …”

“I _am_ a teenager – imagine how I feel,” Bucky jokes. He immediately realizes his poor choice of words when Steve makes an exasperated sound; the kind Bucky knows by now means that Steve’s about to stop kissing him. _Fuck_ , the last thing Bucky wants to do is kill the mood, so he pulls Steve back in and presses their lips together quickly.

He immediately apologizes, “I’m sorry, I didn’t – damnit, Steve, I didn’t mean it like that. You _know_ what I meant. Just, you don’t know how crazy you make me all the time.” In an attempt to rectify things and lighten the mood, he teases, “Personally, I’m just glad to know I’m not alone here. I’d hate to see ya run out of steam and not be able to keep up with me.”

To his fucking _relief_ , that turns Steve’s momentary frown into a smirk, before Steve growls softly in his throat and bites at Bucky’s bottom lip. “In your _dreams_ ,” he shoots back, tone low and gravelly. “I’m not the one who’s turned into a fucked-out mess every time we hang out.”

Bucky whimpers, cutting off the sound by kissing him even harder. “Christ, Steve, we keep this up n’ I’m gonna be takin’ your pants off next,” he warns him. “Goddamnit, I want you to fuck me so bad right now, god _please_ …”

Steve exhales a mixture of a breath and a laugh, reaching between them and actually removing Bucky’s hands that _had_ started to take hold of his belt. “Maybe later, if you’re good,” Steve answers, finally ending the kiss by placing a final one to Bucky’s forehead. “And _only_ if you can be quiet. Can’t risk anyone finding out we’re here, right?”

Bucky whines, feeling the urge to literally stomp his foot. That’s _three_ times now he feels Steve’s punishing him with blue balls, and he didn’t even do anything to warrant it. Steve chuckles at his plight – not actually looking apologetic at all, the fucking dick – and takes Bucky’s hand again, turning back towards the waterfall and crouching down, making Bucky do the same.

“Alright, make sure you keep an eye on your footing, and follow me,” Steve instructs.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll fuckin’ ‘keep an eye on my footing’, it’ll go straight up your ass, fuckin’ swear,” Bucky grumbles some more, completely under his breath. Steve doesn’t catch that (if he does, he doesn’t comment on it, nor does it change his demeanor any) and seems to brace himself, before ducking into the waterfall and disappearing behind it. He’s still holding Bucky’s hand, the only thing connecting them now that Steve’s on one side and Bucky’s on the other.

“ _Whoo!_ ” Bucky hears Steve exclaim. “ _That_ definitely woke me up! Alright Buck, you coming or what?”

Bucky bounces lightly on the toes of his shoes, preparing himself. Steve goads him again, “C’mon, scaredy cat!” and then Bucky grins and shouts, “Go fuck yourself!” as he lunges forward and goes head-first through the mini waterfall. He’s instantly drenched from his head to his waist and shouts in surprise, but it only lasts a second. Then he’s inside the little tunnel, with Steve who’s just as soaked and giddy as he is.

They laugh and give each other little shoves, having to stay crouched so they don’t smack their heads off the rock ceiling. It’s nice, though – the opening to this miniature _cave_ of sorts is a little higher than the stream created by the waterfall outside, so the interior is almost entirely dry. Steve wrangles Bucky up in his arms and pulls them together again, so when Steve lowers and takes a seat on one of the rocks, Bucky’s landing in his lap. Getting comfortable, Bucky leans his head back and rests his temple to Steve’s, closing his arms over his boyfriend’s again and shuffling so his legs are resting over either side of Steve’s.

“Mm… this is beautiful,” Bucky murmurs, taking in the sense of calm and listening to the water falling and splashing to their right. “How’d you find this place anyways?”

Steve doesn’t answer right away. He readjusts his arms around Bucky so he’s holding onto him tighter, before turning and pecking his lips to Bucky’s cheek again. “Hey, you wanna hear a story?” he asks with a smile.

At this, Bucky turns so he can drape both legs across Steve and be held against him like they do when they’re sitting on the couch. This way, all he has to do is curl his back a little so he can lay his cheek against Steve’s collar and press his forehead into his neck, where Bucky likes it best. He can always feel Steve’s pulse gingerly thudding away, and to Bucky, it’s so soothing. He nods and closes his eyes.

“Hmm… So once upon a time, there was this girl,” Steve starts saying, “and she was beautiful, Buck. Prettiest girl in all the State. She was fifteen, and just had her heart broken by this guy – some jerkoff who was never worth her time anyways… Anyways, she’d been going steady with him but he’d dumped her to be with her best friend. At first, all she could do was cry into her pillow, night after night until she fell asleep; wondering why the guy she thought she’d be together forever with had broken her heart.

“So she lived near here, right? And one day, she had decided to get up from her bed and go out for a walk to try and clear her head. After a while, she went off course and headed straight into the bushes, trying to get herself lost. She didn’t want to worry anyone exactly – she just… wanted a few minutes to forget. But then she wound up coming across this place. Now she didn’t go under the waterfall at first; she’d sit near the water and think. But every time, she’d get closer and closer, just _wondering_ what was on the other side. She let her imagination wander, ‘cause she needed to escape from the real world.

So she told herself there was some sort of magical gateway just past the waterfall, and she started creating these – these _stories_ in her head… of where it led, and the adventure she’d have getting there. Her home life, y’see, it wasn’t quite as magical. Her parents were busy all the time and no one really expected all that much from a girl like her back then – or any girl at _all_ , really. So that fantastical land was the promise of more. She daydreamed all the time about finally crossing that waterfall and making it to the other side, where she’d find her Prince Charming and get to go on all sorts of adventures where no one cared whether she was a girl or not. She’d get to live happily ever after this time.”

Bucky hums to signal that he’s listening. Affectionately nuzzling Steve’s neck a little, he murmurs, “What was her name?”

A pause, like Steve wasn’t expecting that question. “Let’s call her Princess S,” he finally answers.

“Princessess?” Bucky repeats with a confused chuckle.

“Mm-mm, _Princess S_ ,” Steve repeats, saying it slower so Bucky understands.

“Oh, alright. What’d Princess S look like?”

He can hear what sounds like _love_ in Steve’s voice when he answers, “Remember the color of yellow crayons? Like, the paler ones – all soft, like… buttercream, y’know? That was the color of her hair. She always wore it up, with flowers woven in if she could find ‘em. Had eyes as green as grass and quite the Irish accent, lemme tell ya,” he chuckles.

Bucky smiles. “She was from Ireland?”

“Mhm, when she was a kid,” Steve tells him. “Moved to America when she was nine, though. But Princess S never lost it, and she got made fun of because of it for quite a few years. So… one day, about a month after she first came across this place, she finally decided she was ready to see what was beyond the waterfall. She gathered all her nerve, took a breath, and plunged on in. You know what she found?”

“What?”

“Some _guy_ sitting in there, reading a Playboy,” Steve starts laughing. Bucky lets out a surprised laugh, too, not having expected that answer. Steve continues, “I know, right? Needless to say, he wasn’t expecting Princess S to be popping up in there the way she had – or _anyone_ for that matter. Apparently _he’d_ been under the impression that that was his secret hiding spot, too, and he hadn’t seen Princess S show up that day while he was in there. Thank god his pants were still on. And so he turned to her and he got angry; jumped in the spot where he was sitting, right… there,” Steve places his hand over Bucky’s and lifts them both to point to a rock directly across from them.

“He yelled at her, ‘Go away!’ and turned about twelve different shades of red,” Steve says. Bucky laughs, picturing it perfectly and imagining how embarrassing it would’ve been to have someone barging in unwelcomed, especially someone supposedly so beautiful, while he was sitting there – presumably with a _boner_ – and reading a dirty magazine.

Steve continues, “Well, needless to say, Princess S felt just as embarrassed. But she was also annoyed – who was that guy to tell her where she could and could not be? As far as she had been concerned, that was _her_ secret spot. She tried not to be disappointed at the fact that it was _not_ a magical gateway to another world, even though she was old enough to know better and had already prepared herself for as much. So she yelled back at him, ‘ _You_ go away!’ And the boy says, ‘I was here first! Buzz off!’ But she just argued, ‘Make me – you don’t own this place!’ And you know what happened next?”

“Oh god, what?” Bucky’s still laughing; almost afraid to hear how this story could _possibly_ have any more second-hand embarrassment than it already does.

“He called her ‘Irish’,” Steve tells him with a chuckle. It sounds _nostalgic_ , and it gets the gears in Bucky’s head turning. He’s starting to think that he might have a very good idea as to who Steve’s story is about. “Because of her accent – he told her, ‘If you weren’t a girl, you best believe I _would_ make you leave, Irish!’ But Princess S wouldn’t stand for some guy saying something like _that_ to her, so she glared at him, yelled back, ‘If I wasn’t a girl? If I wasn’t a _girl_?’ and punched him in the nose before spinning on her heel and storming off.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, back to cracking up all over again. Talk about a shitty first impression. He can’t help but think that that boy definitely had that one coming. But the way Steve tells the story, it still leaves him with this unshakable feeling that he’s not supposed to _completely_ dislike this guy. All the same, he adds, “Go girl.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, she was pretty pissed. But then she went back the next day and sure enough, the guy was there again. This time, no Playboy, but… sitting in there, reading from a real book. Oh yeah, I should’ve mentioned this before, but his hair was a brownish-red – like, not bright red and not quite _brown_ , but… more of an auburn. Okay? Remember that.

“So unlike the last time, Princess S was _glad_ to see him. She stuck her head through the waterfall, made him jump again, and _right_ when he was shouting that she scared him, she told him, she said, ‘Just so you know, I’m _proud_ of being Irish, and you call me that again to make fun of me and I’ll punch you in _both_ eyes!’” Steve says, pitching his voice to make it sound higher and shrill. Bucky snorts.

“‘ _Oh_ , and just so you know? Red hair is most common in Scotland and _Ireland_ , jerk! Just thought you should know that!’” Steve continues. “And then she pulled back through the water and turned to go sit down by the stream to let him think on that. He didn’t come out at first and Princess S told herself that that was _good_ , because it meant he was speechless and she’d won that round. Eventually, she’d been sitting out there for probably thirty, forty minutes and she didn’t feel so mad anymore. She starting singing while she played with a stick in the water. I don’t know what she sang, but that was the other thing, Buck: she had the voice of an angel.

“If you could’ve heard her voice, you would’ve fallen in love with it. Well, the guy sitting behind the waterfall couldn’t resist it. He didn’t say anything, not at first anyways, but… The next time they were both there at the same time, they were both quiet for a while – her by the water and him, sitting in his usual spot – and suddenly she heard him calling out to her, ‘Don’t feel like singing today?’ She thought he was trying to challenge her, so she sang even _louder_ than usual, as if to spite him.

“I bet you can guess what happened after that,” Steve says fondly, habitually tightening his arms around Bucky’s midriff again and resting his cheek against Bucky’s forehead. “Every time Princess S would show up, this guy would make a comment about her not singing, until eventually, she’d just start _doing_ it from the moment she got there. Gradually, she’d get closer and closer to the waterfall – I’m not sure if she purposely meant to do that, or if it was just a thing that sort of happened. But eventually, she’d be sitting directly off to one side, and he’d be sitting on the other, and he’d start asking her through the water if she knew _this_ song, or _that_ one…

“Then they started talking properly,” Steve tells him, “and she told him her name, and he told her his: _Joey_. He was only a few months older than her, and they realized they’d gone to school together when they were just little kids. Princess S remembered that he used to share his snacks with her whenever her family didn’t have the money to pack much for her in terms of a lunch.

“When he finally invited her _into_ the waterfall so they could hang out and talk in there, she got her first real look at him. His freckles stuck out the most to her. Next were his eyes; ‘blue as the good Lord’s sky’, she’d describe them. The first time he told her he thought her accent was actually very _pretty_ , she tried to pretend she wasn’t blushing from head to toe. He’d sit right across from us and she’d sit exactly where we are now, and for hours, they’d talk and talk…”

Bucky’s eyes are open. He stares ahead of him to the waterfall, flowing magnificently in front of him and to Steve’s right. The sense of nostalgia radiating in Steve’s words, off of his boyfriend himself, gives Bucky a sort of contact sensation. Chest tight with emotion, he softly says, “This story’s about your parents, isn’t it…?”

Steve hums affectionately in his throat, and Bucky can feel it against his forehead. “Joey Rogers,” he says affirmatively, “and Sarah Dolan. They met right here, right where we are. Had their first date in here after a couple months… Dad brought her a little basket with some food and laid out a picnic where it was dry. Had their first kiss in here, too, from what I was told. My mother told me once that she’d been sitting right here when he smiled at her a certain way, and she _knew_ he’d be the man she’d marry one day. Turns out this waterfall really _had_ been the promise of her happily ever after, after all.”

“Wow,” Bucky breathes, unsure whether he feels like he could laugh or cry. He’s in the middle of wondering if Steve’s ever brought anyone else here, maybe Peggy, when Steve answers that very question as if he’d been reading his mind.

“This is the first time I’ve ever come here with someone other than ma. She started taking me here as a kid, and… we’d just sit here, talk and tell jokes. She used to tell me stories all about my dad, since I only got a few years with him before he died. Sometimes, I’d draw and she’d read. Sometimes she’d sing to me and get me singing along with her. I even did my homework here sometimes,” he says with a half-hearted chuckle. “We never told anyone about this place, so… after she died, it took me a while to come back. The first time I did, I didn’t think it’d ever be able to be the same again, going here without her. This is where I like to come and think.”

Bucky feels overwhelmed by this information. Not in a bad way, just… like a bucket overfilled with water. It’s such a simple place, and yet it holds so many important memories. He doesn’t know what Steve’s parents looked like in their youth, but he feels like he can see their faces; hear their laughter, and Sarah’s singing. He can see their first kiss, and feel the moment when she realized she was in love with Steve’s father. It’s like he can conjure up the image of Steve as a boy, sitting across from him while his mom sat in their place; witnessing memories he can only create in his mind but never know for real.

The fact that Steve chose to share this with him – a thing he’s never shared with anyone else – fills him with an even deeper love than he ever thought he could know. Wordlessly, he pulls away from Steve so he can move off of his lap and sit back down beside him. Steve’s glancing over at him curiously, and Bucky responds by taking the blond’s arm and guiding it around his back, so Bucky can get in close and wrap his arm back around Steve’s stomach. Hugging himself to Steve’s side, he looks into Steve’s eyes and whispers, “You have no idea how much I love you, Steve… Thank you…”

Steve smiles, a tiny thing with only one corner of his mouth. Cupping Bucky’s cheek, he closes his eyes and presses his lips to Bucky’s forehead before lowering and meeting Bucky’s mouth halfway. Bucky listens to him inhale deep and steady through his nose. When the kiss ends, Steve pulls back only far enough that their noses are still touching, while he runs his thumb back and forth across Bucky’s cheek.

“I think I have an idea,” Steve replies. “I just never thought I could ever love you this much. It scares me sometimes…”

“Me too,” Bucky admits, “but… in a good way…”

“Yeah, in a good way,” Steve says quietly with a small nod.

“I wish I could’ve met your mom… Do you think she would’ve liked me?” 

Steve answers without any hesitation, “Oh yeah.”

“Really?” Bucky can’t help but smile; he’ll never get the chance to meet Sarah Rogers, but he already loves her, just from the things he’s heard Steve say. And anyone who means that much to Steve means a whole hell of a lot to _Bucky_ , too, just by association.

“Yeah, she would’ve adored you – especially for giving me so much shit all the time,” Steve jokes, shaking Bucky a little with the arm slung around him tightly.

“Do you think…? I mean, even with the age difference and stuff? She wouldn’t have hated me for that?” Bucky asks. Now he lowers his eyes and stares off, as opposed to at Steve.

Steve doesn’t answer quite as fast this time around, like he’s letting himself think about it and choose the best answer. “I think she might not have gotten it at first,” he admits, “but she knew me. She would’ve known it wasn’t like that. Buck, don’t worry sweetheart, she _would’ve_ loved you, I promise. You would’ve been another son to her – probably would’ve wanted to walk you down the aisle _too_ whenever the time came one day.”

Bucky’s heart slams to his chest. Smiling shyly, he playfully says, “Nah, ‘cause she’d be walkin’ _you_.”

“Not if I was already waiting at the end of the aisle,” Steve answers.

Bucky’s cheeks blush a soft pink as gets cozy with his face pressing against the side of Steve’s neck again. Staring back at the waterfall, remembering all the magic Sarah had once believed it to have – _magic that turned out to be just as real_ – he murmurs, “Hmm, you seem to have thought about this a _lot_ already.”

“I might’ve once or twice.”

“Really? What’d you think about?” he asks.

Steve hums thoughtfully. “Oh, just the usual stuff, I guess. Like, I imagine what you’d look like, what our venue would be…”

“No churches,” Bucky cuts in.

“No, no churches,” Steve says with a quiet laugh. “I was thinking outside, on a sunny day – but not _too_ sunny, ‘cause we wouldn’t want everyone suffocating to death. Plus, who wants a wedding party full of squinty eyes?” Bucky giggles, imagining exactly that. Steve continues, “When I picture it, I imagine all of our best friends… Like, they’d obviously know all about us and… _maybe_ they would’ve had a problem with it at first, but then they would’ve come around, supported us… I’d probably ask Peggy to be my ‘Best Man’ – and I _know_ she wouldn’t want me changing her title on principle alone. I’d offer to change it to, like, ‘Best Person’ and she’d bust my balls for it.”

Bucky laughs again, ‘cause – _yeah_ – that sounds pretty accurate, given the way Steve’s described her. Funny… Bucky thinks he’ll always feel a tiny morsel of jealousy whenever he thinks of her, because it’ll always go hand-in-hand with picturing her being with Steve the same way he is now, but… ever since Steve told Bucky he loved him and they made things official (even if only between them), he can hear about Peggy without it feeling like the end of the world. A part of him actually looks forward to the day he can _meet_ her – granted it’s under good circumstances and he knows she’s been made aware of him first.

“Keep going,” Bucky requests.

“Hmm, keep going, huh? Okay, well… I imagine myself already standing in front of everybody, with the officiant and our wedding parties. I’m not sure exactly what I’d be wearing but… it’d be a suit, obviously – no jacket, since I always picture a summer wedding. I dunno why, but… I mean, if you wanted something in the spring or fall, or even during the _winter_ , I’d be just as happy with--”

“Steve, _shh_ , relax,” Bucky murmurs, smiling. God, he’s so fucking precious; Bucky could cuddle him forever, he’s so damn cute. “Summer sounds perfect to me. Just keep going.”

“ _Heh_ … Sorry, I – okay, umm… I dunno, I imagine you getting walked down the aisle by your mom, maybe your dad. Or, even both, I dunno… I think of how breathtaking you’d look, I wouldn’t be able to stop smiling. Not gonna lie, I’d probably tear up a little,” Steve confesses.

“I’m practically tearin’ up _now_ , it’s fine,” Bucky jokes – but he _does_ sniffle right afterwards, his grey eyes indeed a bit wet.

Steve hugs him tight; kisses the top of Bucky’s head before keeping one hand on the side of Bucky’s face so he can idly stroke the hair behind his ear. “I’d like it if we wrote our own vows, but we wouldn’t have to if you didn’t want to. I just always found that a bit more personal and… I dunno, _special?_ And…” he chuckles shyly, “… _god_ , Bucky, I’d have such a hard time the whole ceremony not being able to kiss you. I’d probably get as far as, ‘You may now--’ and I’d be grabbing you and kissing the fuck out of you.”

Bucky’s smile breaks into a grin and he laughs. When he blinks, a tear does escape from the inner corner of his eye, rolling down over the bridge of his nose. “I want to take your last name one day,” he tells Steve.

“Really?”

Bucky nods against his neck. “Mhm… Would you be alright with that?”

Steve says, “You sure you’ll be alright with legally becoming _Buck Rogers_?” but there’s no hiding the smile in his voice when he says it.

“Oh god,” Bucky groans in between chortles, “I didn’t think of it that way – I was more stuck on _James_ Rogers. I guess you’re right, though… What if I became Bucky Rogers-Barnes?”

Steve lowers his hand from Bucky’s face. Slowly, he reaches to his side and gathers up Bucky’s hand that’d been sitting on his waist. Gently lifting them, he uses his fingers to flatten Bucky’s hand in the air, before pressing his own to Bucky’s so their fingers are lined up. Steve’s hand is just a tiny bit bigger than Bucky’s.

“What if… we _both_ one day did that?” Steve counteroffers, speaking slow. “Bucky Rogers-Barnes, and… Steve Rogers-Barnes?”

“You’d change your name, too?” Bucky asks, gazing over at their hands. There’d be a wedding band on his, right there on that finger… He can’t wait for that day to come.

“I’d do anything for you, Buck,” Steve simply answers, like that should already be obvious. “That has a nice ring to it for both of us anyways, don’tcha think?”

“Steve Rogers-Barnes,” he echoes softly. Tilting his hand, he answers, “I love it,” and then curls his fingers, slotting them in-between Steve’s. Steve holds his hand back and lowers them so they’re resting on his lap. “I don’t really care _what_ we call ourselves, to be honest. Just tell me this is really gonna happen one day, and I’ll be happy.”

“It’ll happen, Buck,” Steve says, and he sounds certain, like this is a vow of its own. “When the time comes, and you’re a little older, and… we’re both ready. It’ll happen. I can’t guarantee you a _timeline_ or anything--”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t need one,” he assures Steve. “As long as I know that _one_ day it will, that’s all I need. Are we… Are we crazy for thinking we can have this?”

“…Maybe…” Steve answers honestly. “There’ll probably be a _lot_ of people trying to convince us it’ll never be a good idea because they won’t be able to understand. I don’t think we can kid ourselves and pretend we won’t have to deal with that when the day comes. But… does that mean we’re not allowed to have it though?”

Bucky chews the inside of his cheek, staring off, thinking… “We’re allowed to be happy,” he chooses to answer.

“I think so, too.”

“And _you_ make me happy,” Bucky adds, now lifting his head to glance up at him. Steve meets his eyes and Bucky nods. “You do make me happy, Steve. No matter what happens or where we end up… Up or down, it won’t change anything for me. I wanna be old and grey with you one day, okay?”

“I’ll be old and grey before you are,” Steve points out, getting a smile but… it’s a _rueful_ sort of smile. Bucky recognizes this reality – that there will come a day when their age difference will be even more apparent than it is now; when Bucky will more than likely have to bury him and say goodbye because – if old age is the way they’re meant to go – time will take Steve before it touches Bucky in kind. That’s a choice he’s consciously making in choosing to be with him. Bucky accepts it.

“I don’t care,” he answers. “That’s a whole lifetime away, and… I’ll take care of you, if I ever have to. Always. Me n’… our kids,” he adds, smiling again to try and get Steve smiling. “And our _grandchildren_ – pretty sure they’ll owe us by then for all the presents we’ll always spoil ‘em with. They can help me, too.”

Steve exhales a short chuckle, Bucky succeeding in getting a smile on his face. Looking away and then back to Bucky, his smile warms and he says, “So I guess that answers for sure whether you’d want kids one day.”

“Mhm, I always thought I’d adopt my first kid whenever I finished school, regardless of whether I was with someone or not,” Bucky tells him. “Have myself a whole slew of rugrats.”

“A whole _slew_ , huh?”

“Well, like two or three,” Bucky clarifies, grinning. “Would you be alright with two or three kids? Or would that tucker you out too much, old man?”

“Hey, _I’m_ the one who does cardio every day, you big punk,” Steve teases back. “You’re the one who’ll have to start exercising if you ever wanna raise a pack of toddlers. But I mean, _yeah_ , I could do that,” he then says, a little more serious. “I’m not saying it wouldn’t be a lot of work, but… as long as there’s a little girl in there somewhere, we can have _twenty_ if you think you could handle it.”

“Okay, I said I want kids, I didn’t say I wanted to never sleep again at _all_ ,” Bucky laughs. “What if we had two boys and a girl? Or two girls and a boy, I’m easy.”

“I think we’ll know what feels right when the time comes,” Steve answers, eyes still roaming fondly over Bucky’s face before meeting his own again. He untangles his hand from Bucky’s to comb his fingers through Bucky’s hair, and then slot their fingers together again.

Bucky’s in the middle of trying to imagine what these would-be children will one day look like. “We could put our parents’ names somewhere in their middle names or somethin’,” he continues, incapable of hiding the excitement from his voice. “I even saw this link on Facebook – I think my friend Bobby posted it, but maybe it was… Fuck, whatever, I can’t remember. _Anyways_ , it was this link from Pink News, and it was about how same-sex couples might be able to even have their own biological children in a few years."

“Really?” Steve asks with genuine surprise. “How’s that even possible?”

“I’ll have to show you the link, I ain’t exactly a biologist, but it said something about researchers from Cambridge doing some stem cell shit and proving that you can use _skin_ cells to create a human egg and sperm cells,” Bucky explains quickly. “If that’s true, you know how big of a deal that is? You n’ me can have _our own_ kids one day, Steve. I mean, we can adopt if we still _want_ to – if that’s what you had your heart set on, we can still do that, but… I mean, we could have a little girl or boy runnin’ around with _my_ hair and _your_ eyes, or… or _your_ smile and _my_ eyes.”

“Or _your_ daredevil personality and _my_ good looks,” Steve jokes. Bucky snorts and whacks his leg, so Steve cuddles him closer and says, “I’m just joking, baby… I’d hope they looked exactly like you. That’s amazing, though… I never knew that could ever be a possibility.”

“They might even have some of your ma’s features, or… maybe your dad’s,” Bucky continues, his voice softening. “All I mean is, we could have a family one day, one way or another. I want that, I… I want some nice little house with the picket fence and everything.”

“You? A ‘picket fence’ sorta guy? I never would’ve pegged you for that,” Steve pokes lovingly.

Bucky’s cheeks burn, and he hides his face against Steve’s neck again with a sheepish smile. These are things he’s never really talked to _anyone_ about. But they’re _here_ , and Steve’s shared this personal secret with Bucky, just by taking him to this place. It’s got Bucky in a sappy, sharing mood.

“Shut up, don’t make fun of me right now,” Bucky complains, still smiling. “I’m serious. That’s what I want. If I could have it my way, I’d be a stay at home dad for a year or so – at least with one of them. I want that experience, y’know? I wanna be the dad with the soccer van who never misses a game, or… has tea parties with his kids, or teaches them how to play ball. I don’t think that’s something to be teased, thank you very much.”

Steve slips his hand to Bucky’s throat and loops his pointer finger into the ring holding Bucky’s tag. When he pulls gently, it reminds Bucky it’s there in the first place – sometimes it feels so natural around his throat that Bucky forgets he has the collar on at _all_ if they don’t address it for long enough – and a sharp, hot bolt of lightning courses through his body, filling him with endorphins, with compliance. He lifts his face away from Steve’s neck obediently, until he can meet Steve’s eyes.

“I’d never laugh at that,” Steve tells him, “I’m sorry. I was just kidding. I want that, too – take turns being a stay at home dad, cheer our kids on from the sidelines of every game… Get them involved in cooking meals with us, putting all the couch cushions on the floor and making forts… _All_ of it. Okay? Wherever you go, I go.”

Looking into the fucking _galaxies_ that can only be called this man’s eyes, this is another one of those moments where Bucky just can’t believe it; can’t grasp the concept that he could have ever gotten so lucky to have someone as incredible as Steve – not just in his life, but _loving_ him back like this. They stare in silence, letting that do all the talking, until Bucky reaches up and takes hold of the back of the blond’s head. He nods and then leans in, pulling Steve towards him the rest of the way. Steve doesn’t fight it; just lets go of Bucky’s collar so he can grip the side of his neck and go in easy. Lips touching like they’ve done a hundred times, and will forever do a million times more.

They’re both still damp from the waterfall, hair gradually drying out and their shirts still stuck in patches to their skin. But the temperature of the night’s air is warm around them, and warmer still within the limited space of the small cave. Bucky feels relaxed, _light_ … still floating. Still able to fly, so long as he’s with Steve like this. When he eventually moves and takes Steve’s face in his hands, swinging a leg over his side to straddle him, Steve doesn’t stop him.

Instead, he continues to kiss back; continues to keep a firm grip on the back of Bucky’s head with one hand, while using the other to slip beneath Bucky’s shirt so it can be skin-on-skin when Steve touches over his ribs, his spine... Bucky can feel the unevenness of the rocks around them making it a little more difficult to hold his balance, but Steve counters that by supporting the rest of Bucky’s weight, not letting him fall.

They kiss, and they kiss, and Steve grunts softly when Bucky mouths down his neck and latches on just above his clavicle until the skin’s purpling… and Bucky moans just above a whisper when he pulls off his shirt and then tips his head back, Steve’s hands splayed flush to his back to keep him right where he wants him. His tongue gently laps along Bucky’s collar, over his chest… Soft and quiet and dotingly, making sure whatever inch of Bucky’s body Steve can touch with his mouth is left feeling just as loved as Bucky does. There’s a packet of lube in Bucky’s pant pocket, as there always is, but no condom.

He’s stopped bringing those with him. They don’t need one anymore.

Bucky never moves off Steve’s lap, except for when he feverishly takes off his pants. Then he’s keeping himself braced up by his shins, beating his tongue to Steve’s and moaning low with every exhale, while Steve holds the back of his thigh with one hand and fingers him open with the other. Deep and languid, patiently stroking Bucky’s insides until they’re _both_ shaking from needing it so badly.

Bucky never moves off Steve’s lap, and eventually he’s got one arm locked across Steve’s back while he clutches golden hair in the other fist; Steve, clenching Bucky to him and digging his own nails into the meat of Bucky’s shoulder. They hug themselves together, with hardly any room to _breathe_ , and from right there – in this hidden spot, nestled out there in the open – Bucky gives himself over to Steve like he knows he always will, and moves.

Keeping things slow, Bucky rises and falls around Steve’s cock; his face permanently smothered against Steve’s neck to stifle his gasps, his choked-off moans… A volume that’s already masked by the water falling beside them anyways… And next to his ear, he gets lost in the labored sound of Steve’s breathing, occasionally peppered with euphoric grunts – these sweet little sounds, _Ngh… unh…_

Kept safe from the rest of the world, they lose themselves in the sweet addiction of blurring the lines where one body begins and the other ends, instead melting together - two hearts, one singular beat. Right now, no one can judge them or what they have, and Bucky moves, he moves, he _moans_ , and he _moves_...

And all he’s ever learned in the course of his life is completely forgotten, because _Steve_ is the only force driving his body and mind. Steve kisses salt from his skin and Bucky falls for him even more, and he hopes Steve can feel it from within him. Bucky never stops moving and Steve never lets him go, long after the sky turns black and everything’s dark and sheltering; everything but silver slivers of moonlight reflecting off of the waterfall, dancing beside them…

The water on their bodies gets replaced with sweat. It’s so long and so good, _so fucking good_ , that Bucky doesn’t need to look beyond where they are to see the stars in the sky, ‘cause they’re right there behind his eyelids – _mm… mm… Steve…_

Every time a weak, vulnerable little sound catches in his throat, he feels Steve holding him impossibly closer. Bucky feels loved, and cherished, and perfect. Nothing will ever feel this perfect, and that’s just fine. _So good, Steve feels so beautiful_ , and... Bucky’s numb to the core with pleasure, and he thinks he remembers something… something about _Icarus_ … A story, about what it is to be punished for being greedy.

Bucky knows nothing but _Steve_ , and yet he also still knows this: if he is meant to crash and burn for being selfish, Bucky will make sure he dies having first tasted the sun.

So he rolls his hips again… and again… and again… inhaling flames and swallowing fire – apologizing to _no one_ –until neither of them can remember who they ever were before they found each other…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so check these things out:
> 
> •[THIS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqzVYXGbW6A) is the style of dancing I picture being Bucky's "specialty" in terms of hip-hop and body popping (from **0:35 seconds** onward)
> 
> •[THIS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7fVHo-xjF0) is some of the choreography I pictured for the routine Bucky and Natasha come up with for "Talk Dirty To Me". It's not overly difficult choreography (since, in my mind, Bucky wanted to keep it a little simpler since Natasha doesn't feel completely confident in it yet), and honestly, I just like picturing Bucky doing the body roll at the beginning of the chorus lmao
> 
> Also, _oh hey_ , so Chris Evans at the world premiere of _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ was giving me a craaaaazy teacher!Steve vibe, so here are some pictures from THAT:
> 
> And as always, my visual inspiration for Bucky:
> 
> And my main visual aid for Steve with a beard:
> 
> AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST, PORN GIFS:


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The closer it gets to prom, the harder it is for Bucky to keep it together. If everything going on up in his head wasn't bad enough, the fact that he feels he can't even talk to Steve about it definitely is. 
> 
> Alternate title for this chapter might as well be: "Can Someone Give Bucky a Fucking Hug Please?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple things! Firstly, this chapter _officially_ puts me over 1,000,000 words of Stucky fic on this website, which is amazing and a really happy accomplishment, so I'm having a celebratory solo dance party in my living room. :P Secondly, **and this is important** , there's a little change taking place with this story: **(1) Because this chapter was just getting way too long, I once again had to break it up. Therefore, there will be one more chapter after this from Bucky's perspective (before the rest of the story returns to Steve's). This chapter will primarily cover prom - which will be incredibly important, since something pretty big happens - and then leave us with a pretty much decision being made for Bucky. (2) This obviously pushes the rest of the story back by a chapter, but I'm not _adding_ any additional chapters to the chapter count, because I've also decided there will no longer be an Epilogue to this story (which was going to be chapter 14). Originally, the Epilogue was going to take place about 6-7 years after where the story ends in chapter 13, and it would've included lots of details about major moments in their lives and their relationship throughout the years in-between, to get them to where they'd be in the present all those years later. However, there will instead be a SEQUEL to this story eventually, because I'd rather actually flesh all of that out and _show_ those things, rather than just tell them.** :) I'd like to thank my friend [skinny-steven](http://skinny-steven.tumblr.com/) for being my sounding board for that and helping me realize that that's the decision I wanted to make. <3
> 
> Additionally, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of you who continue to read this story, leave kudos/comments, and send me the most amazing messages on Tumblr. It means the world and more to me, and I really hope you all continue to enjoy this story as it keeps unfolding! ♥
> 
> **WARNING/ADDITIONAL TAGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:**
> 
> • **Same as last time, take some of Bucky's choice of vocabulary with a grain of salt. His train of thought is sometimes a little more vulgar than Steve's.** In several places where his thoughts are described, he uses slightly derogatory terms, mostly in reference to himself in sexual situations with Steve ("slut", "whore", etc). Please note that they are not being used in a demeaning way, but an endearing one. Bucky likes feeling like those sorts of things when he's with Steve, as Steve does with him. Furthermore, the words are NOT being used with any misogynistic connotations (meaning, not in comparison to a women who enjoy sex, behave wantonly, etc.) Rather, the terms "slut", "whore", etc. (where they are used - which admittedly, is sparingly) simply refer to people in general who enjoy behaving a certain way during sex and are seen as insatiable. And once again, Bucky uses them purely as positive terms of endearment, and not as shaming or insults.
> 
> • **WARNING/TAG FOR MINOR (CONSENSUAL) FACE SLAPPING.** I'm not adding this tag to the _story's_ tags because it's not a big enough thing between them (definitely nowhere near yet) to constitute tagging it to the story. But in case that is not your thing, it's being warned here.
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/) is basically a place for Stucky, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Marvel, smut, or inappropriate humour - so if you feel like coming and hanging out with me, please do <3

The closer Bucky gets to prom, the more his mood about the whole thing is plummeting. Honestly, he’s not sure whether the talk he wound up having with Steve about it is a _good_ one or not in retrospect. If anything, it only leaves him feeling more confused – because when he’d finally offered to send Steve a photo through text to show him his outfit, he hadn’t expected Steve to reply with, **_I love it! You look great, baby. And I bet you’ll look even more amazing when I get to see it on you in person._**

“Uh… what?” had been the first thing Bucky had asked when he immediately called Steve afterwards out of confusion.

Steve seemed just as thrown off as he was. “I didn’t tell you? I’m sure I’d told you.”

“Told me what?”

“Really, I didn’t tell you?” Steve asked from his end, genuinely sounding perplexed.

Bucky had to keep his voice down so no one else in the house would overhear his conversation. Locking himself in his bathroom, he sat down on the lid of the toilet and hissed, “Seriously, Steve, I have absolutely no fuckin’ clue what you’re talkin’ about – _why_ are you gonna be able to see it on me in person?”

The other line fell silent, to the actual point where Bucky had to double-check that he hadn’t accidentally hung up on him. But then Steve said, almost _tentatively_ , “I’d already said yes months ago, way back before… Fuck, I’m sorry, I really thought I’d told you already. I can try and get out of it if you don’t want me there--”

“Steve, pump the breaks,” Bucky had interrupted. “You’re still movin’, like, ten steps ahead of me, so back it up. What did you already say yes to? Are you gonna be at prom or something?”

“Um… yeah.”

Bucky’s brows shot up in surprise. “Wait, really?” he replied. “But wait, why? Why are you gonna be at prom?”

“Why’re you suddenly sounding so _defensive_ about me being at your prom?” Steve slowly asked, sounding suspicious. “What, am I gonna see something I won’t like or something?”

That made Bucky’s temper flare. He’d just been asking a question for god’s sake. “Wow, thanks for that,” he’d muttered, ready to hang up right then and there. “Talk to ya later, Steve.”

“No, wait – Buck, c’mon!” he heard Steve quickly say. Sighing, Bucky pressed his phone back to his ear and had asked with exasperation, “ _What?_ ” so Steve sighed in kind and explained, “Look, I’m sorry, it’s just… you just made it sound like you weren’t happy at _all_ that I’d be there, and… like, how did you think that’d make me feel? I’m sorry, okay?

“Tony – _Mr. Stark_ was going around back in, like, February trying to see who wanted to get on board chaperoning for prom,” he continued. “Apparently Miss Hill likes getting the names in early ‘cause last year, it was left to the last minute and the night wound up being understaffed. Mr. Stark didn’t wanna go at it alone, so… I said I’d go. I was just trying to help, I swear I wasn’t doing it to keep an eye on you or be your babysitter or anything.”

Bucky listened, tapping his foot off the floor and taking all that in. First and foremost, he felt a little like shit for making Steve think Bucky didn’t want him there. _Of course_ he wanted Steve there, it was just… That’d mean that…

“Shit, Stevie, I’m sorry,” he’d said. He rubbed at his eyes and then let his hand land in his lap with a _thunk_. “It’s not like that, I – Jesus, you know I want you there more than anyone, you fuckin’ know that by now, you big idiot,” he told him affectionately. “You don’t need to apologize, it’s not… I’m sorry too, okay?”

“It’s alright, Buck,” Steve replied, much to Bucky’s relief. No matter how small, and no matter how _normal_ it made him feel to know that they could bicker between each other like regular couples, Bucky can’t stand arguing with Steve. It just throws everything else off balance and nothing feels right until everything’s settled again.

“Hey, I love you, ‘kay?” Steve’s voice had added, pulling Bucky back into the conversation.

“I know, I love you too,” Bucky said. “So… okay, so you’re gonna be one of the chaperones that night?”

“Yeah.”

“All night?”

“‘Till it’s over anyways.”

Bucky had frowned, _actually_ regretting then that he had to tell him, “I promised Nat I’d stay at her house…”

But Steve had only chuckled and reassured him, “Bucky, that’s okay. It’s your prom, you should be spending it with your friends. This only happens for you once; I want you to enjoy it.”

“But,” Bucky weakly croaked, “I mean, now I know you’re gonna be there all night and I won’t even be able to spend any of that with _you_. I don’t want you bein’… like…”

“What, lonely?” Steve finished, voice gentle. “Baby, I’m not gonna be lonely, alright? I won’t be the only teacher there, and a bunch of them are my friends. I’ll be fine, I promise. You just focus on having fun – that’s all I want you to do for me. That night’s about _you_ , and it’s gonna be awesome, okay?”

If Bucky’s vision had become all sorts of blurry and out of focus, he wouldn’t admit it to Steve just then. He was glaring at nothing in particular, resting his elbows on top of his knees as he stared off with a scowl.

 “It ain’t fair, _fuck_ this ain’t fair,” he’d muttered. Sniffling as quietly as he could manage, he said, “I _want_ to be able to share this sort of shit with you, I hate that I can’t, I… Now I’m gonna have to watch everyone dancin’ together and, and kissin’ their dates and… Steve, you’ll be right there and I’ll have to act like I barely know you. It’s gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

Another moment of silence. It started to sound like the full weight of Bucky’s emotions on this subject were dawning on Steve, because he’d sounded _troubled_ – that uncontrollable protectiveness edging his tone; that switch in him that flips on the second he knows Bucky’s hurting – when he then responded, “Buck, _hey_ … Hey, it’s okay. Listen, I’m sure I can get out of it. If you want me to tell them I can’t anymore, I will, I’ll make something up.”

“No, Steve--”

“I can let Maria – fuck, I mean, I can let _Miss Hill_ know tomorrow morning--”

“Steve, _stop_ ,” Bucky pleaded. The other end of the call had gone quiet again, so Bucky took a few deep breaths to calm himself. “I don’t… Fuck, I’m sorry, okay? Look, I… I _want_ you to be there. I’ll feel even worse if you’re _not_ there, ‘cause… I mean, at least I can just look over and _see_ you this way. I’d rather have that than nothing, it’s just…”

“I know, Buck,” Steve had whispered understandingly.

“I wish we didn’t have to settle for _just_ that…”

“I know… It’s – look, what do you need from me right now?” asked Steve, and Bucky could hear it – how badly Steve was trying to do anything to help. “Just tell me what I can do to make this easier.”

“I don’t – I’m sorry, I don’t even know right now,” Bucky sighed. Making a frustrated noise in his throat, he’d tried to explain, “I don’t know _what_ I need right now. It’s not you… okay? It’s me, I just can’t… Fuck, it’s like _neither_ option is a good one, I just wish… God, I wish I could just fuckin’ _kiss_ you in front of everyone if I fuckin’ felt like it.” He heard Steve sigh quietly, so Bucky had quickly added, “I know, I know, don’t worry, I wouldn’t actually do that…”

“No, it’s not that,” Steve gently replied. “It’s just… I get it, Buck. You don’t think I wish for that same thing? I do, _all_ the time… Every time I see couples walking around, or smiling at each other, I just… I wish we could be like that, even just once. I’m sorry being with me has to be like this for you…”

Perking up, Bucky had blinked a few times, shaking his head even though Steve couldn’t see him. He hated when Steve talked like that; hated when Steve martyred himself, like this was somehow all _his_ fault – as if Bucky wasn’t the one who’d charmed his pants off (figuratively and fucking _literally_ ) all those months ago.

“No, don’t you do that,” he firmly said, shutting Steve up. “Don’t you fuckin’ do that, baby – just, _no_. This is about as much your fault as it’s mine. Does it fuckin’ suck? Yeah, of course it does. Is it always gonna be easy? Hell no, and… yeah, it might make it a little painful on prom night, but… Look, you blame yourself again and the first thing I do when I see you at prom will be punch ya, understand?”

Without realizing it, his voice had been getting a bit louder, a little more impassioned: “We didn’t ask for this – isn’t that what you told me before? All we did was fuckin’ fall for each other, and we tried not to do that, but we _did_. Can’t change that now, and I dunno about you, but I don’t fuckin’ regret that, I _don’t_ , and I fuckin’ hope you still feel the same, Steve--”

“Baby, _baby_ ,” Steve cut in, his turn to have interrupted Bucky. There was a weak, sort of surprised-sounding chuckle, and then Steve sounded much tenderer when he said, “Easy, just… _shh_ , I’m sorry, you’re right – you’re right, it’s okay. I’ll try not to say shit like that anymore. It’s just, you know how I get with you, Buck. I don’t like knowing you’re upset in any way; gets me overprotective.”

“I know…” Bucky bounced his right foot off the floor, teeth digging into his lip as he continued to stare at a random spot on the wall ahead of him with a frown. “Look, Steve…” he said, “just so you know? I _did_ get asked by a couple different people. To prom.”

“Honestly, that doesn’t surprise me. I already expected you’d have to be fighting people off with a stick,” Steve joked. Still, there was a slight possessiveness that sharpened his tone then – though not in any way directed towards Bucky, and Bucky knew that. Bucky hadn’t told him that for the purpose of making him jealous.

If anything, he simply told him because he felt Steve should know. But more importantly, know that _despite_ being asked a handful of times, by a handful of different people, Bucky had said no to every single one.

Chuckling, Steve said, “Well, I sort of figured you would’ve said no. I mean I sure _hope_ you did, but… you know you don’t have to tell me that, Buck. You don’t need to reassure me all the time. I know you’re mine.”

Warmth making Bucky’s chest feel tight and fuzzy at the same time, Bucky closed his eyes and smiled wearily to himself. Rubbing at his forehead, he nodded. “Good,” he quietly murmured, “I just wanted to make sure you knew that. And if anyone asks me to dance, same deal: I’m gonna say no.”

“Now hold on,” Steve said, suddenly sounding like the smile Bucky was sure he’d been wearing had dropped, “you don’t have to go that far for me. It’s still _prom_ , Buck. If one of your friends wants to dance with you, go for it. Don’t think you’re not allowed, Bucky – I’m not in this relationship to control you, not like that.”

“What if I like that though?” Bucky asked – and then just as quickly jumped when he thought he heard a small _thump_ in the hallway, on the other side of the bathroom wall. Tilting the phone away from his ear for a moment, he straightened and went stiff, listening carefully.

It turned out to be nothing more than the house making some noise; nothing to worry about. Fuck, Bucky fucking loathed how much sneaking around he had to do and how on edge he needed to always be just to carry a goddamn _conversation_ with his boyfriend…

“What, me controlling you? Telling you what you can and can’t do?” Steve asked, a genuine question.

Bucky pressed the phone back to his ear and exhaled some tension out with his next breath, slumping a little again. “Yeah,” he admitted in a whisper, purposely keeping his voice even quieter than before. “Not in all aspects or nothin’. Like, not like in _Fifty Shades_ or something like that.”

“You know I haven’t read those books.”

“Don’t, they’re terrible,” Bucky said, and he smiled when Steve laughed, rich like music. “No, but seriously,” he pushed, “when it comes to that sort of stuff with other people, I like knowin’ you want me all to yourself. Maybe sometimes I just like hearing the reminder.”

“…Do you really _need_ the reminder, or do you like it just ‘cause?” Steve asked after a few silent seconds. Another honest question, like he was suddenly worried he’d somehow fell short recently and had left Bucky questioning his worth or something.

So he quickly assured him, “No, not like that, don’t worry. I just like it is all. Makes me feel special.”

“Well you _are_ special... Don’t ever doubt that, baby. But hey, look… why don’t I tell you what? Let's meet in the middle, 'kay? How about this: I’m not gonna give you any rules on the night of your prom. I’d just feel a lot better if I didn’t think you weren’t letting yourself have all the fun you deserve because you felt you needed to act a certain way thanks to me,” said Steve. “So, when it comes to dancing… I don’t want you asking anyone _yourself_ , but if someone else asks you, I’ll leave that decision up to you.”

Bucky had only opened his mouth long enough to make _one_ short sound of protest when Steve chuckled deep in his throat and continued, “Hold on, I’m not done yet. I know where you stand on that whole thing, and you know where I stand. So, the decision is yours. But…”

Then Steve’s voice had dropped, and when he spoke next, he sounded controlled and deliberate. That alone – just hearing that shift and knowing _exactly_ what that meant – was enough to trigger every fiber of Bucky that came alive for him, and him _alone_. Of course, what he actually _said_ proved to be an even bigger tease:

“ _If_ you dance with anyone else, you’ll face punishment – haven’t decided what it’ll be yet, but I’ll figure it out. I know you’re staying at Natasha’s that night, and that’s fine. It’ll just give you a longer time to sit on the knowledge that the next time you’re with me? You’re mine to do with as I please. And you _will_ be corrected for making me have to watch you pressed up so close to someone else… Watch someone else put their hands on you.

“I don’t like that, you know I don’t. I wanna break any hands that so much as _touch_ those gorgeous hips of yours, that’s the sort of person you make me. But since I could never _actually_ do that, your ass will have to do. Maybe your back, too. How’s that sound, sweetheart?”

Bucky’s eyes were wide and his mouth, hung open by the time Steve finished talking. _Yes_ , a million times yes – Bucky was more than okay with _every single thing_ Steve just said. Oh Jesus, Steve was so kind to him. Bucky could never properly express how fucking grateful it made him the second Steve read Bucky’s mind like that and was generous enough to give him something he so badly needed. Every day, he learned more and more about all the things that made Bucky tick; figured out how many strings Bucky had and learned how to play and pluck them all just right.

“You’re giving me rules you hope I’ll break?” Bucky asked, trying to sound witty.

Unfortunately, his mouth was dry as the goddamn desert at that point, and all it made him sound was as desperate as a two-dollar whore. Really, that probably wasn’t all that far off, to be honest – and Bucky shamelessly didn’t give a single fuck. He was – he _is_ – Steve’s good little whore. He’s fucking proud of it.

The only evidence needed was the fact that Bucky’s dick always got so hard it could drill through a diamond, just at the idea of Steve giving him a much-needed punishment; just from Steve talking to him like that… Even sometimes when it was self-induced; a _voluntary_ misdemeanor.

Especially then, actually. Sometimes the best part was the anticipation.

“Yes.”

Bucky had groaned. “You’re killin’ me, Steve,” he complained. “That’s all I’m gonna be thinkin’ about now. And knowing I won’t even get to have it either way that night? That’s torture – that ain’t even fair and you know it.”

“That’s sort of the point,” Steve said, laughing.

Bucky didn’t find it nearly as funny, grumbling, “Yeah, yeah, keep laughing, funny man. Just know that I hate you.”

“Oh c’mon Buck, you love me.”

That’d directed the conversation down a much more lighthearted path, and from there, the topic of prom had been put behind them.

Of course, in the two weeks since – leading up to it – it gets brought up here and there, but Bucky always puts on a brave smile and tries to remember that it’s only one night, only for a few hours, and it’s not the end of the world. He tries to hold onto Steve’s little threat – his _promise_ – and be thankful that he’ll at least get to be in the same room as his boyfriend that night. That’s _sort of_ like being able to share the experience.

At least that’s something…

Except it’s not. For all the pushing down Bucky tries to do, the more it bums him out beneath the surface. Nine times out of ten, Bucky can ignore how much it fucking _blows_ to be in a relationship he can’t be open about in any way. Living with a secret that big is no different than living a lie, and it makes Bucky feel like half a person. But he understands, he really does, and he certainly knows it’s neither his fault nor Steve’s, just like he’d said. Still doesn’t mean it doesn’t completely suck balls, though.

This feels like that _one_ time out of ten when the weight on Bucky’s shoulders feels far heavier than usual. Because trying to remind himself that ‘at least Steve will _be_ _there in general_ ’ also goes hand-in-hand with the reminder that Bucky _won’t_ be able to go over to him whenever he wants to. In fact, to avoid looking suspicious, Bucky will have to fight the urge to as much as look at him whenever he wants, as much as he wants.

They’ll have to pretend they don’t really know each other. When they _do_ get to interact – the limited amount of times that’ll get to happen in the first place – they’ll have to appear to the rest of the world as nothing but strangers. Bucky will have fun that night, yeah. (It’s not like he’s wallowing in enough of a pity party to stubbornly decide that he’ll have an awful time solely on principle and _that’s that._ )

But whenever he has to watch his friends getting cutesy with their dates and go all ‘PDA’ on everyone, Bucky _will_ feel lonely. He _will_ miss Steve. And whenever a slow song plays, and couples pair off on the dance floor and get to have their two and a half minutes, slowly turning in circles and holding each other and being able to show everyone else, ‘ _This is the one I wanna dance with_ ’… Bucky will wish he could get the sort of comfort from Steve that Bucky would need, but would also be unable to _get_.

Instead, he’ll have no choice but to just to deal with it. And there’s no version of that that doesn’t fucking suck, no matter how you slice it.

Normally, Bucky’s a pro at brushing shit off his shoulders so the people around him don’t have to know when something’s bothering him like this. And while he still manages to do just as good of a job at that as ever, _inside_ , he feels like he’s bubbling a little too hot; getting a little too close to the surface for his liking. The truth is, it doesn’t feel like _just_ prom, when he actually forces himself to stop and think about it…

To be perfectly honest, prom might just be the straw that broke the hump on the camel’s back.

Because Bucky thinks he’s got a perfectly good handle on things until about two days before the big night. Yeah, he’s been a little antsier than usual, and even _Steve_ kept asking the last time they were hanging out if he was okay; kept hugging Bucky closer while they cuddled on the couch. He seemed to know better than to ask questions when Bucky eventually slid to the floor and told Steve to shut up so he could undo the older man’s jeans and suck his cock, in a sad attempt to try and distract Bucky’s noisy mind.

Bucky could tell Steve _wanted_ to ask. Bucky just did a really good job of making it too hard for Steve to think once his dick was snug between Bucky’s spit-slick lips.

But then Thursday rolls around, and Bucky isn’t sure _why_ , but he feels like he’s got cabin fever – which seems crazy, since he’d gone out with his friends the night before _and_ was at school all day that day. Maybe it’s because he knows he _can’t_ go out now. This is one of those nights where his mom and dad have made it known they want him home to spend time with the family.

Maybe it’s because when he walks into his room, he has to pass by his closet, where the reminder of prom being only _two_ days away is draped on a hanger just on the other side of that door.

Or that when he passes by his computer desk, the reminder that he _still_ hasn’t decided on a college is stuffed away between books and binders on the desk’s built-in shelf.

Whatever the reason may be, prom is on his mind, and it’s an easy gateway to get him thinking of what’s coming soon: prom means his _birthday_ is only another week away, and his birthday means that _graduation_ is within the next month. Graduation means _summer_ , which would be great, except summer means he’s already past his deadline to pick which school he’s going to start at in the fall, and he’s running out of time.

Both schools offered him an extension to decide, but he’s been bleeding those dry too, and if he doesn’t utilize it soon, his scholarship is going to go right out the window. If he loses his scholarships, he probably won’t be able to afford the full tuition and book fees for the fall. He’ll have to wait until the following semester, or perhaps the following year, to get back in – and even still, he’ll probably have to pay the full amount, as opposed to a very small portion.

Bucky knows his parents would insist on covering the costs for him, but Bucky’s been looking forward to going to college since he was a kid – a new chapter to his life – and he has every intention of making his own way; not having to be in debt to anyone. He’s known what he wanted to do with his life for as long as he can remember. And even though he would love to travel one day, and go on adventures, and have a family and stuff, college always came first in his mind. That was always the dream; always, to Bucky, his first big _adventure_.

Only now it doesn’t seem so exciting anymore. It actually feels fucking _scary_ – downright terrifying, to the point where Bucky’s deliberately kept all those documents and welcome letters and brochures and _all that shit_ collecting dust in his shelf, because the thought of having to make that decision has him feeling like he could puke.

Tonight, for the first time in months, Bucky beelines to the shelf and pulls them out, so he can drop down heavily onto the side of his bed and stare back and forth between the two.

How the fuck is he supposed to make a decision like this…? It doesn’t feel fair, and it – it feels like too big of a decision for someone his age to make. He suddenly feels very, very small.

For the first time, he wants to _hide_ behind his age like it could be his personal shield, protecting him from all the adult responsibilities waiting for him around the bend. Bucky has both acceptance letters beaming up at him – _pick me_ ; _no, pick me_ – and all Bucky wants to do is crawl under his blankets and hide until they all go away, like he used to do when he believed there were monsters beneath his bed.

In certain ways, Bucky hates to admit that he’s still, in fact, just a kid.

For all intents and purposes, he knows that both options are basically the same in terms of the outcome. No matter which school Bucky went with, he’d still walk away after four years with a Psychology degree, and be just as qualified either way to head into his Master’s program afterwards. He’s been trying to tell himself for _months_ that NYU is his decision. After all, his family is here… his _friends_ are here… _Steve… Steve_ is here… New York is Bucky’s home.

And yet…

Something in the pit of his gut is swaying him in the opposite direction. It’s the voice that’s telling him that UCLA is where Bucky’s meant to be. Bucky’s afraid that might be his _intuition_ , and he hates it because he can’t shake it, no matter how hard he’s tried. When Steve finally told Bucky he loved him back, and they finally – fucking _finally_ – became official, Bucky was sure that gut feeling would go away.

But then it didn’t. Bucky’s tried waging war against that voice night and day for weeks and _weeks_ , going up against it with as much ammunition as he could scrounge up.

It still keeps telling him: _UCLA._

The biggest problem is that imagining himself all the way over in California in _theory_ is not the same as when he _actually_ stops and considers what the real-life pros and cons would be to picking the University out there. And the reason why he hasn’t talked about any of this with Steve is because _Steve_ is the very factor making it so fucking hard for Bucky to make up his mind.

Their relationship is already complicated and difficult enough to maintain as it is. Throw in Bucky telling Steve that he was going to be living on the complete  _opposite_ side of the country, and what would happen then? Bucky likes to believe that Steve loves him enough not to leave him for _anything_ , but… Bucky would be lying through his teeth if he said that what’s stopping him _isn’t_ the fear of Steve leaving him because Steve would feel the distance would be too hard.

And the worst part is, Bucky would be heartbroken; he’d be completely fucking wrecked if that happened. He’d never be as happy with anyone else again, and he knows it without a sliver of doubt…

But he wouldn’t even be able to _blame_ Steve.

Asking someone to maintain a secret, _long-distance_ relationship is a lot. Even Bucky’s realistic enough to know that if he went to UCLA, it’d be the true test to their relationship, and it would undoubtedly be hard. A lot of couples only seem to be as strong as the frequency with which they get to see each other. Take that frequency _away_ and they can crumple.

But… to not even give it a chance at all? To end what they have at the source without putting up a fight for it?

Honestly, Bucky doesn’t fucking know which one would be worse. They’d both destroy him, because both would mean losing Steve. But at least with the first option, he’d get to be with him a little longer…

Bucky knows there’s still the possibility that Steve would be all for Bucky following his heart and would be nothing but gracious and supportive regarding his decision. The Steve Rogers that Bucky knows would be in his corner every step of the way. He wouldn’t abandon Bucky at the first sign of difficulty. Bucky has to hope that Steve would stand by him and think their relationship was worth the sacrifice.

Knowing that on a logical level does not, in any way, make the decision easier for Bucky, though. Because mostly, he’s still too scared to take that risk that Steve would react in _any other way_. Just because Bucky knows the majority of his fears probably exist all in his head doesn’t make it any easier to stop living up there all the time.

Bucky’s a total liar – he was never forged from steel. He just prefers that the rest of the world be under that impression. He wishes he was with Steve right now so he could be treated like precious glass.

Normally Bucky rebels against that notion as adamantly as he revels in it. Right now, though, Bucky actually _does_ need someone to take care of him… Make him forget for just a few hours about the real world and all its fucking expectations… Free him so he doesn’t have to be _James Buchanan Barnes_ , but Steve’s _little boy_ – nothing more and nothing less.

Nothing expected of him but to follow the orders given to him and be good. Being good for Steve is easy. Bucky doesn’t have to make decisions because he trusts Steve to make them all _for_ him. No worries, no stress, no tension, no responsibilities…

Complete and absolute release, where he is never judged. He is only loved.

It’s way too much. This is all too much and Bucky can’t handle this right now. It feels like so much pressure, and Bucky’s knees are giving out. How is he supposed to make these sorts of decisions? They’re – they’re too important; he shouldn’t be expected to make choices like this, choices that change not only _his_ life but the lives of _other people_. Why is his heart telling him that he’s meant to be with Steve, but then also telling him he’s meant to be a country’s length away from him at the same time?

Their relationship can never be fucking simple for a change. It’s as if life constantly wants to do nothing but shit all over the two of them – throw one obstacle after the other their way, laugh as they try to jump over them and never let go of each other’s hand in the process, and then hurl an even _bigger_ one at them just to watch how nicely they’ve learned to jump through hoops. It’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair... and Bucky cannot do this right now.

He can’t breathe. He can’t remember the last time he had a panic attack. Not since tenth grade, at least. Bucky supposes he was probably due for another one any day now. Keeping shit bottled up, keeping that carefree exterior maintained and without cracks in front of everyone else for so long… every once in a while, it blows up in Bucky’s face. It’s the boiling water hitting the lid and unable to help from spilling all over everywhere. He just fucking _hates_ feeling this weak.

Leaping up, he crosses the room to his desk in less than three steps. Breathing raggedly, Bucky’s hands are shaking as he tries to jam all the papers back in between his history textbook and his math binder. He doesn’t need to look at them right now, he _can’t_ look at them right now – he just need to pretend he has more time, that’s what he needs right now. Bucky will look at them later and he’ll deal with it all then, but for now he just _can’t_ and _he needs everyone around him to fucking accept that_.

Going back to his bed, Bucky climbs onto it and then curls up into a ball on his side. His pulse feels like it’s racing, filling his chest with anxiety and making it tight. He hates going at these episodes – few and far between as they may be – alone. Yeah… the last one he had was when he was fifteen, he remembers now. Few months after Rumlow’s party… He dealt with it then the exact same way he’s dealing with it now: alone in his room, determined to stick it out without anyone’s help.

He just needs a few minutes… Then his breathing will slow back down and he’ll be okay enough to go downstairs and get a glass of water… He’s dealt with this before, no big deal. _It’s fine, you’re fine…_

When five minutes pass, and then _ten_ , Bucky still feels like he could break down crying. He doesn’t know how he let everything get so overwhelming. He wishes he could close his eyes and when he opened them again, prom will have come and gone. Graduation would never get closer. Bucky could freeze time and keep everything exactly as it is now… It may not be ‘perfect’, but it’s still the closest thing he’s ever had to it in his life.

He’s so fucking terrified of losing that.

Eventually, he turns over onto his stomach with a wet-sounding sigh. Burying his face into the pillow, Bucky tries to think of whatever he can to drown out his thoughts. Over the back of his neck, his fingers are threaded, palms pressing down to cover the entire surface of his nape. He tries to pretend those hands are Steve’s.

“You’ll be okay, baby, I’m right here,” Bucky whimpers into the pillow, his voice muffled. The fabric beneath his cheeks is wet. “It’ll all be okay.”

He tries to pretend his voice is Steve’s.

* * *

The biggest problem about anxiety is that once you reach your breaking point and can’t run from it anymore, it doesn’t let you get away unscathed. Instead, it fucking _throttles_ you. 

The next day is basically a write-off for all the seniors because _one_ , TGIF right? But also, _two_ , it’s the day before prom. Bucky feels like he’s living on his own planet, trying to get as pumped as they all are, but only succeeding in feeling that painful twist in his gut getting worse and worse.

It’s all everyone can talk about – going over the plans for the following day againand again, talking about the after party, where the pre-drinking is going to happen before they all head out in the limo together, who does everyone think is gonna win Prom King and Queen anyways?

Et cetera, et cetera, et fucking cetera.

It’s not that Bucky doesn’t care – he’d just prefer ten minutes to talk about something else, _anything_ else. Every comment chisels away at him, reminding him of everything he’d tried to lock back down the night before and throw away the key to. Bucky had specifically woken up that morning trying to tell himself that everything _– as always –_ will be fine. And then all it’d taken was five minutes at school that morning and that thought process had basically flown out the window.

Mind you, he still plays his part just fine by everyone else’s standards. He’s all smiles over the course of the day, and he even participates in every (single) conversation his friends have regarding prom. Of course, only two people know Bucky too well for his own good, and that’s Natasha and Steve.

At lunch, Natasha asks him under her breath, “You doing okay?”

Bucky gives her his best   _I have no idea what you’re talking about’_ expression and casually replies with a smile, “Yeah? Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Except she doesn’t buy it. Like, at all. She has this thing she does sometimes when she knows Bucky’s trying to feed her bullshit, where she’ll stare directly at his eyes and never blink even _once_. Her right brow will arch just the tiniest bit, but otherwise, her face stays reticent. That’s how Bucky knows she sees right through him. Seriously, by now, he should know better than to think he can ever pull a fast one over her.

Doesn’t mean he ever stops trying, though.

But his smile _does_ drop away. Glancing quickly to their friends still talking away among each other, Bucky peers back to her and then averts his gaze down to his food guiltily. “Seriously, Nat, I’m fine okay?” he mumbles softly. “Just leave it.”

“Prom?” she sympathetically asks.

Yeah, that’s _not_ leaving it.

“Dude, can we not right now?” he snaps with little more exasperation, still trying to keep their side conversation from everyone else’s ears.

At that point, Natasha purses her lips a little – _fuck, that’s the dead giveaway when she is_ not _impressed_ – but she also averts her green eyes, turning her body back forwards. “Whatever you say.”

Great, because on top of everything else going on, Bucky needed to add ‘feeling like an asshole’ at the front of the list. He’s silent for a bit, namely out of stubbornness alone, but eventually when he can get away with speaking to her discreetly again, he mutters, “Look, I’m sorry okay? Yeah, it’s prom. But it’s nothing, I’m fine.”

When she looks back over to him and gives him that dissecting look again, Bucky insists, “Seriously, I’m _fine_.” Reaching beneath the cafeteria table, he finds her hand and gives it a squeeze. Giving her an apologetic – and genuine – little smile, Bucky nods and says, “I’m sorry, okay? I can be a dick sometimes, I know. I didn’t mean it, okay?”

One corner of her mouth turns up a tad. Bucky feels her squeeze his hand back once, securely. “Yeah, but you’re a dick we all love,” she jokes. Bucky knows that means she accepts his apology, and at least that’s _one_ thing that brings him a sliver of relief.

They turn their attention back to their table of friends and Bucky tries his best to throw his mask back on; pretend he’s just as stoked about getting completely slammed this upcoming weekend. But his heart just isn’t in it. Now that Natasha knows, she comes to his rescue, as she’s always done for as long as he’s known her.

“You wanna go for a walk before next period starts?” she asks. They’ve still got about ten minutes before the bell’s set to go off.

Bucky nods way too quickly, pairing it with a tired smile. “Please,” he says, exhaling a short laugh. They excuse themselves by telling everyone that Bucky’s going to go have a quick cigarette before class, and Natasha’s going to join him. It’s technically not _untrue_ , they just don’t really say why Bucky needs it.

For the remainder of lunch, Bucky holds Natasha’s hand. Everyone who knows them knows the nature of their friendship more than well enough by now. Not a single person would dare to comment on it.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have her hand to hold during class itself. He doesn’t remember much from the actual lesson; Steve talks, and Bucky _should_ be listening, really, ‘cause this is their last unit of the semester and this is definitely shit that’ll be on the exam. He supposes that dating your teacher has its perks – chances are, whatever Bucky doesn’t remember, Steve can always help him with once studying for exams starts. If he should be forcing himself to care right now otherwise, Bucky doesn’t really have that sort of energy at the moment.

He stares off a lot, zones out… Too much thinking. Way too much thinking lately; Bucky can’t make his brain turn off, not even for a second. Sometimes, he can bring himself to get his mind on track but it only lasts a few minutes at a time – because then he has to stare at _Steve_ , and goddamnit, Steve is so perfect, he’s fucking gorgeous and Bucky can’t stand it. Even doing nothing but standing at the front of the room and talking about… _fuck,_ what are they even talking about?

Apparently they’re still discussing the emergency of China in world affairs. Bucky’s ninety-nine percent sure he already read over that entire section in the textbook, since he has a tendency to read ahead and always try to get a leg-up in all his classes. So, he can afford to zone back out again.

It means he won’t have to pay such meticulous attention to Steve – the way he commands authority over the room with a gentle warmth that makes everyone there feel welcome… The effortless way he talks through the material… The way the right side of his mouth quirks up a bit whenever he opens it up to the class for discussion and he smiles at everyone… His eyes… God _damn_ , his eyes…

It just adds to everything; makes Bucky remember all those forms hiding away in his shelf, the fact that his parents keep asking more and more frequently these days why he hasn’t decided on a school yet and when he’s _going_ to. Looking at Steve reminds Bucky that they might very well be on yet another clock, with every second counting down to the moment when Bucky possibly loses him for good this time.

The worst part is that Steve isn’t even aware that new clock exists yet. One of the most gut-wrenching feelings has to be when you’re sure your whole world is about to fall apart, but you have to watch everything be A-OK to everyone else.

And you constantly think, _I wish that could be me right now… Anyone but me._

At this point, Bucky would pick ignorance and naivety over this. There _is_ a reason why it’s equated to bliss, as the old saying goes. If Bucky could trick himself into forgetting all about this shit and procrastinating without any of the worry associated with it, he fucking would in a heartbeat.

He doesn’t miss the way Steve keeps shooting him the quickest, most casual of glances throughout the afternoon. Even though it’s always no longer than half a heartbeat at best, Bucky can always feel it, even if he himself is looking elsewhere. He can always feel when Steve’s looking at him.

The times where he _does_ catch it, he always see the momentary worry – the silent questions:  _Whoah, hey, what’s going on? What’s the matter?_ – that he only knows is there because he knows Steve so well. It’s too subtle for anyone else’s eyes to catch.

At one point, Bucky’s got his cheek resting against his palm while he draws nonsensical doodles in the upper right-hand corner of his loose-leaf paper, and Steve stops the lesson to actually ask Bucky, “Mr. Barnes, are you alright?”

“Hmm?” Bucky replies, blinking dumbly and taking a moment to realize everyone’s staring at him now. Glancing to the side and then up to Steve, he straightens and lowers his pen. “Uh, yeah, sorry,” he mumbles, aiming for nonchalance. “I was just thinking about – something. Sorry.”

Steve’s still frowning. Bucky hears some of his friends snickering harmlessly, trying to mask it and their smiles with their hands, or ducking their heads down to use the temporary distraction to check their phones under their desks. Bucky just keeps staring at Steve.

“Sorry,” Bucky says again, purposely making himself shrug and play it cool. By now, he and Steve both understand that Bucky only acts like that – the whole, _I’m too cool for anyone's authority, Teach_ – because that’s how everyone expects him to behave. If he didn’t, it’d look like something was up. Bucky’s just playing the part he has to play.

“You’ve seemed a little off today; would you like a few minutes to grab some water, maybe get some air if you aren’t feeling well?” Steve asks, bordering that fine line between concerned and professional that he’s got down to a science by now, too.

God, Bucky could kiss him. He doesn’t let it register on his face. Keeping his tone neutral, he shrugs again, eyes downcast on his opened binder, and replies, “Um, sure, I guess. Thanks.” Getting up, he flips his binder closed and rises out of his seat. He shoots Steve the fastest side glance as he passes by, and then waits until he’s out of the room and has closed the door behind him to let out a heavy exhale he’s been fighting since he first got in there.

And the walk – the reprieve from class – actually does help a little, he supposes. He spends almost a whole minute bent over at the water fountain, slurping down mouthfuls and drinking so fast that it’s got him gasping quietly every time he finishes swallowing. He even lets the water arc out into his slightly cupped palm so he can press it to his forehead and feel the little _splash;_ the way the droplets cascade down his face, reminding him of a million invisible tear stains over his skin and leaving the roots of his bangs wet.

Drying his face with his sleeve while he walks, he circles the floor about six or seven times before he sits down by one of the large atrium windows and pulls out his phone to try and get distracted by Facebook for a few minutes. First, though, he shoots Steve a text. Bucky knows Steve won’t see it until class is over, but still…

**_Thank you Stevie. Didn’t sleep well last night and feeling weird about tomorrow. Needed the air, youre the best._ **

Bucky spends the rest of the class sitting by himself in the empty hallway. Steve doesn’t send anyone after him, and he doesn’t give him a hard time when the bell eventually goes off and Bucky ducks back in while everyone’s _leaving_ to grab his stuff. He’s almost grateful that this Friday falls on the day where his timetable in the afternoon places his class with Steve directly after lunch, rather than the very end of the day.

It means that there’s not really any chance for Steve to try and talk to him, which is exactly what Bucky needs _not_ to happen right now. If it does, Bucky might cry, and that’s not an option at the moment. But of course, as he’s shoving his binder into his bag, Steve keeps checking the door. The second the last student leaves and the room is empty save for the two of them, he utilizes that brief moment of privacy by quietly asking Bucky, “Baby, are you okay?”

“M’fine,” Bucky replies distractedly. Swinging his bag over his shoulder, he gives Steve his best smile and is already heading for the door. Glancing back to him from over his shoulder, Bucky replies, “I gotta go, m’sorry, Mrs. Grey’s class is on the first floor. Check your phone; we’ll talk tonight, okay?”

And then he makes himself look away and keep walking straight on out of there – even with the lost, worried puppy dog look Steve was giving him searing away into the back of his head, making Bucky feel fucking _awful._

He doesn’t get to see Steve that night. Because the next day is prom and Bucky’s already told his parents that he’s going to be gone all afternoon (only coming home to change), and then will be out all night with his friends, they expect him to stay home the night before. That makes two days in a row that Bucky does his best to actively avoid his bedroom because he doesn’t want to look to his _closet;_ doesn’t want to have those letters in his _shelf_ screaming at him all night.

Instead, he spends the night in the living room, watching TV with his family. They keep asking him about the following day, and _oh, he must be so excited…_ Bucky’s been smiling so much - so _fake_ , he can feel it - that his face is pained. He’s too good at his role, though. No one in his family can see how much Bucky’s hurting, how fucking transparent all this enthusiasm really is.

He sits on the couch to the side of his mom and dad so he at least has the privacy to text Steve throughout the evening. As he’d expected would happen, Steve keeps trying to give Bucky opportunities to talk about whatever it is he’s feeling, as gently as he can, as subtly as possible – like it’s his way of saying, ‘ _I know you’re trying to be strong and don’t want to admit you need to fall apart with someone right now and let it out. I see that, I understand that. So here’s me giving you the in if you need it, so you don’t have to feel like you were weak for taking it. You didn’t_ ask; _it was offered_ , _and there’s a difference._ ’

Even if there really _is_ no difference, it touches Bucky in a way, to know that Steve would pretend there was just to make him feel better.

It’s so sweet and sad that Bucky almost gives into it, just because he sees how hard Steve is trying, and Bucky can only imagine how much anxiety it must be making Steve feel right now, to _know_ Bucky’s not okay but can’t do anything about it. He doesn’t, though. Because that’d still require actually talking about it, and Bucky’s been practically jumping on that lid and forcing it to stay closed again, so there’s no way he’s opening up that can of worms again. Least of all, right now.

For the second night in a row, Bucky starts to crack once he’s lying awake by himself in bed. He doesn’t let himself freak out, but there’s a panic attack lurking around the corner and he hates that feeling the most. Oh god, he wishes he had his collar on right now – not even so much because of the collar _itself_ , but because that would mean he was at Steve’s, _with_ Steve. Even though Steve is currently – even if unintentionally – a big part of the problem, he’s also its only solution. The only person Bucky trusts to make things alright, even if it’s just a temporary fix.

Bucky rolls onto his stomach again; presses his face so hard into the pillow that he can’t breathe at first. Not until he starts to feel dizzy and then lifts a little so air can inflate his lungs again with a quiet gasp. Then he tries to settle a little more comfortably, with his blanket draped over all of him – even his head – and his palms pressing down on the back of his neck.

Bucky just needs to get through the rest of the night and fucking _fall asleep_ , and in the morning it’ll be okay. He and Steve have plans to spend the earlier half of the day together to compensate for what the evening will bring for them. They made those plans over a week ago.

Bucky can hold onto that; he can hold onto that until it steadies his breaths. If he tries hard enough, he can hopefully wake up in the morning and focus _just_ on the positives the day can bring him – spending time with Steve ( _don’t need to look to far ahead, Bucky doesn’t have to remember all the bad stuff, the worries, the fears…_ )…

And then having a night of dancing and partying with his friends ( _no need to get caught up about graduation or shit like that, or the fact that he won’t get to be around Steve all night, or the fact that in just a few months, everything changes and he and his friends will go separate ways and even though they’ll all stay in contact and hopefully be just as close, it won’t be the same anymore… Won’t be as easy to see each other… Nope, no need to think about that; Bucky can do his damned best to convince himself that that’s still_ years _away…_ ).

For the second night in a row, Bucky mutters soothing words of reassurance under his breath until he winds up passing out into an uneasy sleep; tries to _be_ Steve, while still being the Bucky who _needs_ Steve right now.

No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t seem to get the voice right.

* * *

When Bucky wakes up the next morning, he’s got tears soaking his pillow, the see-through stains left in their wake still fresh over the bridge of his nose. He rations with himself that it’s because he had a nightmare just before waking up, and tries to push it out of his mind from the get go. 

He can only remember the dream loosely, but it’d had something to do with telling Steve about the long distance thing, and then Steve confessing that he was actually already seeing someone _else_ , because ‘ _you really think I was serious about having a life with you? You’re nothing but a kid, Bucky, that’s disgusting_.’

Then Bucky thinks Natasha was suddenly there, if he’s remembering things right, and his other friends might’ve been, too, but he can’t remember who exactly it was for sure. None of them wanted anything to do with him, and they were all mad at him, and Bucky hadn’t known what he’d done wrong.

Now that he’s awake, he can’t remember what exactly everyone kept saying, or how all that had happened in the dream in the first place. He just remembers hurting and apologizing over and over, but no one gave a shit. They just kept saying all sorts of mean things and then sneering at his pain scornfully.

Bucky quickly scrubs his hands over his face to erase the evidence and try to start the day fresh, but the seed of uneasiness is already planted. Bucky ignores it the best he can, like he’s been trying to do with _everything_ the past couple days. Getting out of bed, he opens his blinds and is met with sunlight. Clear skies, from the look of it, and warmth trying to hug his skin through the window, like it’s trying to make him feel better and give him the hug Bucky so sorely needs but is too proud to ask for just yet.

He showers and has a bowl of cereal for breakfast. He chats with his parents, and doesn’t let himself snap at his mother and take his irritability out on her when she’s nothing but smiles and constantly making comments about the night to come.

She keeps saying she can’t wait to see him all done up in his outfit again; keeps double-checking who’s all meeting at his place and what time the limo will be there to pick up him and his friends. From there, he, Natasha, Clint, and Pete will then head to Ben’s house to grab him, Kitty, Stephen, and the other Peter. The rest of their friends – and their dates – have their own rides and will be meeting them at the Tribeca Rooftop, where they’ve got prom taking place this year.

His mom wants pictures, lots and lots of pictures, _‘make sure you give me a good half an hour to get some nice pictures of all of you guys!’_ For about the billionth time, Bucky gets asked whether he has a date or not, and Bucky says no; says it’s just a group thing and lies and tells her that _no one asked him_. Says that if he absolutely had to specify someone as his ‘date’, he supposes it’d be Natasha. Whenever he gets asked if he’s excited, Bucky says yes and that coil of stress in his stomach grows another inch.

**_Hey babe I’m up. Let me know whenever I can come over k?_ **

That text has been sitting in their iMessage thread since Bucky first woke up and sent it off, but Steve has still yet to respond, which means he must still be sleeping. Steve never sleeps in, even on weekends – not unless he goes to bed with a lot on his mind and his brain finally calls it quits on him and needs the rest.

Bucky tries to remind himself that he needs to be patient, and finds ways to keep himself busy as the morning passes by. He does some of the homework he’d intended to do the next day, mows the lawn, and then even offers to sweep the floors, much to his mom’s surprise and utter _delight_.

“Who are you and what have you done with my son?” she jokes, lifting a hand to press it to Bucky’s forehead. “Don’t tell me you have a fever.”

“ _Ahaaa_ , you’re so funny,” Bucky deadpans sarcastically, leaning away from her touch. Giving her a lopsided smile, he lies, “M’just excited; got a lot of energy right now. Figured I could burn some off before I meet up with Nat.”

His mom hands him the broom and then turns to leave him to his devices and sweep up the kitchen. “I should throw some fake proms once a month then, if it’ll get you to actually do some chores around here,” she keeps joking harmlessly on her way out. “Does that mean for your birthday, you’ll clean the bathroom?”

“Nuh-uh, you know I don’t put my hands anywhere _near_ toilets,” Bucky calls back, getting to it and keeping his eyes on the floor while he begins to drag the broom back and forth. “Get Becca to do it.”

“You’re so picky!” Winifred teases from the living room now. Bucky can hear Dr. Phil on the TV. “My little diva!”

“Isn’t it considered illegal child labor to make me do work without paying me?” Bucky jokes back.

“James Buchanan Barnes, I will have absolutely no problem revoking your car privileges this summer if you so much as _ask_ for ‘wages’ just because you _contributed to this family unit_ ,” Winifred threatens. She sounds completely amused, though. Bucky tries to smile, even though he’s alone in the kitchen and has no audience to pretend in front of. He just wants to try it out; see how it feels today.

It doesn’t feel so good.

He’s still so fucking tired. And antsy. He continues to make light chit-chat with his mom while he does the floors in the kitchen, the front hallway, and the bathroom. Then he heads downstairs and does those floors, too, checking his phone obsessively every few minutes in the hopes that maybe _now_ he’ll have a reply waiting for him from Steve. Every time, he’s left disappointed. His anxiety levels only continue to rise.

At eleven-thirty, though, he caves and locks himself back in his bathroom. Sitting on the closed toilet lid, he dials Steve’s number by heart and then closes his eyes while he holds the phone to his ear. He’s tapping his foot anxiously off the floor, his thoughts chanting with every ring, _Pick up, Steve. Pick up, Steve. Pick. Up. Steve…_

“Hey baby, sorry, I ran out to pick up some groceries and I didn’t realize I’d left my phone at home,” Steve’s voice suddenly answers, sounding winded, like he’d _just_ walked through the front door and then ran for his phone. He also sounds like he’s smiling. Bucky hates that that only makes him feel like crying even more _._

“Buck, you there? Sorry, it really was an accident…”

“What? No, sorry, it’s okay,” Bucky replies quickly, his head hanging, forehead pressed against his left palm. Able to picture Steve’s smile perfectly, Bucky does his best to mimic it so it translates in his voice. “Was just wondering if you died on me or something.”

Steve laughs. Bucky can hear movement in the background; the sound of plastic bags and some soft _thumping_ that he assumes is Steve lifting them onto the counters so he can multitask and unpack. “Nope, can’t get rid of me that easily,” Steve playfully says. “How’s your morning going, sleepyhead? You sound like you just woke up.”

“I’ve actually been up since, like, eight, thank you very much,” Bucky says, trying to go along with the teasing. Even he can hear in his voice how little he’s giving Steve to work with, though. “Been waitin’ of you. Thought you would’ve at least texted me when you woke up, though.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” Steve says again, still sounding partially distracted, “I really wanted to get some errands out of the way as early as I could so I didn’t have to worry about ‘em later. That way this afternoon can be nothing but you and me.”

“Mhm…” Bucky sighs quietly, rubbing his eyes.

The noise on the other end stops.

“Buck? Are you okay?” Steve asks.

It’s funny how well Bucky knows him by now. He would bet money that his boyfriend is standing in the middle of his kitchen, having completely forgotten about the strewn groceries littering his counter tops, all because he suddenly picked up on the weariness in Bucky’s tone.

Bucky’s particularly selfish today. Right now, that sort of thing is making him feel good, probably for the first time in days.

All the same, he hums, “Hmm?” and then shakes his head with a short exhale of a flat chuckle, adding, “sorry, yeah, m’fine.”

He’s conflicted about the fact that Steve doesn’t seem to buy it. “…Buck?”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

He sounds concerned now; concerned and _protective_ , just like that. Bucky’s not trying to worry Steve, but… admittedly, hearing that tone in his voice is exactly what Bucky needs right now. It’s not _quite_ enough to get those familiar endorphins flooding his body and calming him down, but it’s at least _trying_ to start combating the anxiety.

Bucky lies: “Yes.”

A pause.

“Buck,” Steve repeats, and his voice gets even firmer still.

This isn’t sexual though, not even a little bit. Not for Steve, anyways. Steve’s getting stern with him and he _means_ it. But Bucky’s so warped – he’s so all over the place right now and _he needs this_ – that he answers to the call of his name by smothering his face into his hand and accidentally whimpering short and low in his throat. It surprises even _him_ , how pained he sounds. 

“ _Buck_.”

“What?”

He listens to Steve take a breath. “You’re lying to me, aren’t you?” he asks – calm, mixed with tentative, mixed with guarding, mixed with authoritative. So much in such a simple question, and yet exactly all the things Bucky’s addicted to when it comes to him.

Bucky hesitates to answer. His silence speaks volumes and gives Steve the only answer he _needs_.

“Bucky… are you lying to me?” he asks, this time drawing out the question, asking it slowly.

Releasing the air in his lungs, Bucky quietly mutters, “No.”

“Bucky,” Steve warns. He isn’t playing games.

“Okay _fine_ ,” Bucky sighs, finally relenting. With a frown, he shakes his head before answering properly, “Yes, I’m lying. Sorry.”

The fact that he doesn’t tag on the usual _‘sir’_ at the end makes it more than clear that – despite everything – this is just as serious to Bucky as it is to Steve. Steve’s tone lacks the usual flirtatious undertones when he asks, much softer than Bucky was anticipating, “Baby, what is it? Talk to me, please.”

“I’m… I’m just…” There’s not enough air in the room for Bucky to possibly begin approaching that question, let alone giving it an adequate response that’ll make much sense. Bucky opens his mouth in another shoddy attempt, but all that comes out is a weak, pathetic sound. He keeps shaking his head, wishing Steve was just _there_ so Bucky could fold himself into his arms and hide there until the world left him alone.

“Bucky…” he hears Steve murmur empathetically, “what’s going on, sweetheart? Please, c’mon, I’m right here. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

 _Except Bucky can’t, and isn’t that fucking hilariously ironic_. It would be something for him to laugh at right now, but if he did… it’d be bitter, probably a little hysterical. Bucky would probably break down sobbing within seconds if he wasn’t careful. Not gonna happen, he won’t let it.

“You’re _not_ here, that’s the problem, Steve. That’s what’s wrong,” Bucky answers before he can help himself. He knows that answer must be a little unexpected, and he hardly helps make matters any better when he continues to ramble, “You just don’t get it – you don’t, you… I can’t do this right now, there’s _too much_ goin’ on. There’s too much, and I can’t, okay? I thought I could but I can’t, everyone needs to leave me alone, okay? Everyone just needs to leave me the fuck alone.”

And then he _does_ laugh and it’s an awful thing, even to him. But he can’t help himself. This is exactly why he doesn’t turn to others whenever this shit happens, because Bucky feels like he makes no sense, and when he tries to express his thoughts, he only succeeds in frustrating himself even more.

He’s thinking about university, and graduation, and prom, fucking _prom_ for fuck’s sake, and everyone expects him to be happy about all this – they expect so much from him, nothing but expectation, and _he’s going to let them all down no matter what he does_ … He’ll lose Steve if he follows his heart – he can’t stop telling himself that’s the inevitable outcome, just waiting for that shoe to drop – and Bucky’s starting to find himself already feeling _betrayed_ by Steve for something that hasn’t even happened yet, and—

“Bucky… Bucky! _Hey!_ ” Steve’s voice grabs him, at first sounding desperate and lost, but then firmer and stable, because… because _that’s_ what Bucky needs right now. Stability. Someone to guide him and take these responsibilities from him. Someone to force Bucky to a halt when his thoughts are running from him too quickly to keep up with.

Even when Steve doesn’t know why Bucky’s feeling the way he is, he always seems to know exactly _what_ Bucky needs from him, and when Steve has to provide it.

Bucky closes his mouth. They’re both quiet for a minute or so, save for Bucky fighting to even out his breaths and calm down. His heart is racing so fast it feels like it’s about to pound right out of his chest. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say there were bugs crawling under his skin and he’s edgy – all his joints feel so fucking restless, _he feels like an idiot for getting so upset by all this_ , but he can’t help it… He’s trying, he really is…

“I need you,” he pleads, voice cracking.

Steve sighs. “I know you do, baby.”

“I need to be with you right now. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“I know. Just… I’m home now, I’m here. I’m sorry, I should’ve remembered my phone; that was my mistake. I should’ve… Jesus Christ, I shouldn’t have let it get this bad, what – _whatever_ this is,” he says, sounding so guilty; like Bucky’s current state was _his_ responsibility and he’d failed. “Just… deep breaths. Take a deep breath for me – in and out, c’mon baby, do that for me okay?”

Bucky does as he says – to the best of his ability, anyways – and then Steve murmurs encouragingly, “There we go, that’s it… Just like that. Keep that up, baby, that’s it… That’s my good boy…”

 _That’s my good boy_ – Bucky sighs softly and nods to himself, just a tiny thing. It’s comforting, there’s no doubting that.

Not enough, though. Not nearly enough right now…

“Can I come over?” he asks. “Please? Can I come over now?”

“Of course, Buck. Do you need anything for when you get--”

“My collar,” Bucky cuts him off. “My collar, please, just…” He inhales slowly through his nose, feeling like a fucking _fool_ for sounding so goddamn needy. This isn’t the type of weaknessthat Bucky gets off on showing anyone. Staring off, he stands up abruptly, unsure of where he’s even planning to _go_ , and mumbles, “Just that, okay? I just need… Sorry, m’sorry Steve, I know I must sound like a fuckin’ moron right now, I _know_ I do, but--”

“Stop it,” Steve orders, “you know how much I hate it when you talk about yourself like that. You’re not a moron, you’re just stressed. I get it, Buck. It’s okay, baby, _you’re_ okay. Let’s take this in baby steps – would that feel less overwhelming?”

Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek and then nods again. “Sure…”

“Okay, then let’s do that. Where are you right now?”

“My bathroom.”

“Alright, so just… take a deep breath, maybe splash some water on your face. Everything’s fine,” Steve instructs soothingly. Bucky can still hear the underlying worry beneath his calm and collected façade, though.

“Baby steps,” Steve repeats. “Do that first, then all you need to worry about next is grabbing whatever you wanna bring with you. After that, just focus on getting your shoes on and leaving the house. Then making your way over here – and once you get here, I’ve got the rest. See? Simple stuff, not that overwhelming at all. You don’t need to look at the whole picture and jump from A to Z; all you need to do is move from one step to the next and that’s it. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Bucky would kiss him right now if he were there. It’s such a simple way of handling things – handling such _easy tasks_ , at that – and yet Bucky hadn’t even stopped and considered doing that. It doesn’t sound nearly as stressful breaking everything down like that, even if it still makes Bucky feel ridiculous that he currently _has_ to approach it that way in order to keep his cool and not freak out.

Right now, his mind is very one-tracked. All it keeps repeating is that _he just needs to get to Steve’s_. It won’t solve everything, but Steve taking care of him will at least help take some of the edge off.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Bucky quietly says. “I just need a couple minutes to grab some stuff and then I’ll be right ov--”

“Honey, you in there?” his mother’s voice suddenly calls to him from his bedroom. Bucky freezes instantly, all of the blood rushing out of his face. On the other line, Steve starts repeating his name and asking if he’s alright.

“You got all quiet and I thought you’d died or something,” she jokes. “Did the housework finally defeat you?”

“Buck, _talk to me_ , what’s going on?” Steve’s still saying in his left ear.

“Shh,” Bucky replies under his breath, hoping to god his mom didn’t hear that. 

“James, honey? Are you okay?” Winifred asks, sounding a lot more concerned the second time around.

Trembling, Bucky whispers to Steve almost inaudibly, “Just one sec.” Then he tilts his head up and calls back casually, “Sorry mom, just on the phone with Nat. I’m almost done anyways, two seconds! _Sorry, I gotta go_ ,” he whispers back into the phone.

Steve, having undoubtedly heard Bucky just now, replies, “Holy fuck… Yeah, yeah for sure. Jesus Christ…” He chuckles weakly, and Bucky doesn’t miss how _freaked_ Steve also now sounds, having realized how close of a call they just had. “I’ll be here waiting – probably having a heart attack, but waiting nevertheless.”

One side of Bucky’s mouth turns up in a hollow little smile and he replies in his usual volume, “Okay, I’ll be over soon. _I love you_ ,” he then adds, whispering again.

“Love you too,” Steve answers, still chuckling uneasily. “Go, _go_ – before she gets suspicious. See you soon.”

“Bye.” Bucky hangs up and for a few moments, does nothing more than stand there, clutching his phone tightly while he stares at the door and tries to slow his heart rate. Closing his eyes with an exhale, he brings his forehead to the wall and lightly lets it rest there.

He should’ve locked his bedroom door; it would’ve at least given him more of a warning when his mother was nearby. If he hadn’t been careful, she could’ve heard his conversation. Too close a call; that was too close…

Just to be safe, Bucky holds his phone up and quickly goes to his iMessage thread with Steve. Frowning, Bucky does like he always has to do and deletes everything. For added measure, he goes to his call history and deletes all of that, too. Every single time is no less painful than the last, no matter how long he’s been having to do this. It’s not that he’s not used to it by now.

He just fucking _hates_ how things have to be.

Pocketing his phone, he takes a deep breath and then lets it out, heading for the door and swinging it open, making sure that when his mom sees him, he’s smiling. When he sees what she’s got in her hands, though, it vanishes just as fast. Bucky falters in his step, coming to a halt. From beside his desk, Winifred glances up from the University acceptance letters Bucky had been stupid enough to leave out in the open the night before, and looks to him.

She gives him a hesitant smile and opens her mouth, but Bucky already knows what she’s going to say. He can’t do this right now, he _can’t_.

“C’mon mom, not again,” he mumbles, shaking his head and going towards her to snatch the papers away. She lets him, and watches her son stuff them right back in their usual spot in the shelf.

“You know we’re trying not to push, honey…” she starts anyways.

“Then don’t,” Bucky replies, eyes pleading as he meets her gaze momentarily. Trying to end the conversation there, he turns back around and heads for the table next to his bed to grab his wallet.

“James,” she presses with a sigh. There’s that familiar motherly edge that always seeps in when this topic gets brought up, it never fails.

“ _Mom_ ,” he replies, unable to keep it from coming out as snarky as it’d been in his head.

Immediately he knows he’s treading into dangerous waters by getting smart with her. It’s confirmed when her tone hardens and she says to him, “Alright, _enough_. Look at me.” At first, Bucky doesn’t; just keeps staring at the small tabletop with a stubborn, immature defiance. But then she _two_ -names him, and whenever she does _that_ , Bucky knows she means business.

“James _Buchanan!_ ”

“Alright!” Huffing, Bucky glances over his shoulder at her.

Pointing to his bed, she orders, “Sit.”

Fuck, _fuck_ , Bucky just wants to fucking get out of there and now he has to get lectured – seriously, _right now_ of all times!? It takes everything he has not to suddenly explode and turn this into a screaming match. That’d only make shit worse for him. So all he does is obey, huffing again dramatically and dropping heavily onto the mattress.

She has her hands on her hips, looking unimpressed. After she does nothing but stare at him for a few seconds without saying anything, Bucky lifts his brows and quietly asks,  _“What?”_

“I do _not_ appreciate your rudeness, young man,” she starts to scold him.

The worst part is that Bucky knows he messed up by snapping at her. He hadn’t meant to – there was no way she could’ve known everything that’s been going on in his head lately, _especially_ today – but right now he just needs her to stop pushing him about the whole school shit. Both of them - her _and_ his dad. He just needs everything to stop, for just a few precious moments, that’s it. He really doesn’t think he’s asking for a lot, but apparently the universe sees it differently.

“Sorry,” he says, mumbling again and keeping his eyes downcast.

“We keep asking because we _care_ ,” she continues. “You have all these amazing opportunities being offered to you, and the last thing we want to see is you throw them all away because you waited too long.”

Bucky sighs, lifting his hands and letting them smack off his thighs as he shakes his head. “Mom, I’m not going to throw _anything_ away, I – I just haven’t made up my mind yet, alright? Like – maybe it doesn’t seem like such a big decision to you guys, but this is huge for me! Like, _monster_ , okay?

“Whatever I choose is my life for the next four years, and the idea of living so far away from everyone is fucking scary! Alright? Just… I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I don’t have everything figured out yet and keep _disappointing_ you. I just need some more time, that’s it!”

Winifred’s expression softens. Coming over to him, she takes a seat on his bed and puts a hand on his back. Bucky glares down at his own – curled tensely into fists, now sandwiched between his knees – and hopes to god she can’t feel him shaking.

“James…” She sighs. “Honey, we are _not_ disappointed in you. If that’s how you’ve been feeling, then I’m sorry, but that was never our intention. We’re so proud of you – of how hard you’ve worked for this. We’re just trying to look out for you, sweetie. That’s our job. If you have a kid of your own one day, you’ll understand what that’s like.”

“I know,” Bucky mutters, all the fight in his voice fleeting him as his shoulders sag. She rubs a small circle on his back, never taking her eyes off the side of his face. From his peripherals, he sees her trying to offer him the faintest trace of a smile. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Guess I feel a bit all over the place today. ‘Cause of… like, prom,” he adds lamely. “I just didn’t wanna think of that stuff right now. I just wanted to have fun.”

“James, no one here is trying to take away from your fun,” Winifred assures him. “You’re going to have fun tonight, and that’s all we want from you--”

 _(You just focus on having fun – that’s all I want you to do for me._ They all just expect him to be so _happy_ , none of them get it, none of them fucking understand--)

“--And if you want, I’ll have a talk with your father about the University thing. He’ll understand. I’ll tell you what,” she offers, “let’s make a deal. Okay?”

“Okay…?” Bucky replies warily, finally peering over to her.

“Your deadline is extended until the end of July, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And your graduation is on the fourteenth?”

Bucky nods again. “Yeah.”

“Then your father and I won’t bring it up again until after your graduation. Just focus on exams and whatever it is you need to focus on, and don’t worry about feeling any pressure from us. We’re _not_ here to pressure you, Bucky Bear. We love you.” She nods a little, so Bucky exhales a small breath and gets a tired smile, nodding back.

Raising her brows a bit, she then adds, “But we need to work together on this, okay? So while we won’t ask about it until then, I still need you to be thinking about it. Because once graduation’s over, you need to have an answer ready. If you’d prefer we all sit down and talk about it _together_ , then we can do that when the time comes. But I need you to really try and think on this. Okay? Does that sound like an okay deal?”

For just a split second, Bucky’s bottom lip quivers, because this is all bringing up all the terrible shit he’s been feeling the last few days, all the _fears_ … The things about Steve he wishes he could break down and tell his mom about, because he just needs someone to tell him everything will be alright; reassure him that Steve won’t leave him, that his friends won’t be angry with him, that _he won’t lose anyone he loves_ when the truth comes out and he tells them all that he thinks he already _has_ made his decision…

Even if none of those outcomes turn out to be the case, he just needs someone to tell him what he so badly wants to hear right now.

But that split second is too quick for his mom to notice. Bucky covers it right up by stretching his smile out wider. Closing his eyes briefly and nodding, he says, “Okay,” and then looks to her again. “Deal.”

She lifts the hand that’d been resting on his and holds it there for him to shake. Bucky looks down at it and lets out a small chuckle, rolling his eyes. He shakes her hand, solidifying things, and she jokes, “Alright, it’s set in stone. No breaking it now.”

The laugh that gets out of Bucky is a bit more genuine, and she smiles at her son lovingly before saying, “C’mere,” and pulling him into a hug. He apologizes again for snapping at her, but he knows she’s already over it and forgiven him.

When they break apart, Bucky clears his throat and says, “Um… So, is it still cool if I head out now to go meet up with Nat, or…?”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” With that she stands back up, deeming the conversation _over_. She flashes him one more smile and then goes to head out of the room, adding, “Don’t forget to tell her to remember to bring back that Tupperware I loaned to Renata. Her and I were chatting yesterday and she told me she’d send them over with Natasha when she came by tonight. Don’t let her forget!”

“I won’t,” Bucky replies, already pulling out his phone so he can let Natasha know, otherwise knowing he’ll forget once he’s at Steve’s.

“Make sure you two are back by five!” she reminds him, sounding now like she’s heading back down the stairs.

“Okay,” Bucky answers on autopilot, his thumbs tapping away. After sending the text off, he remains standing next to his bed, staring down at it and zoning out while his brain runs away from him again, replaying the entire conversation with his mother a second time. Letting his phone drop onto the mattress, he slowly lifts his stare and then walks over to his door, closing it as softly as he can.

Locking it, he lets out a breath and closes his eyes, stepping in close until his forehead is pressed to it, the rest of him trying to seep into the wood and disappear. It’s as if those letters have _eyes_ , and he can feel them all over him from the other side of the room. Screaming silent questions at him; judging him for his cowardice in his refusal to answer them aloud yet.

Is this what losing it feels like? There’s a scream welled up in Bucky’s throat that he’s been desperate to let out, but it’s not safe yet. He’d be heard. It’s like he’s trapped within his own home, even in his own _body_. He just needs… He needs something to distract him and just give him the grace to _forget_ for a while.

He needs Steve to fuck him, hard and fast and brutal. He needs to be fucking _wrecked_ , and handled with bruising hands, so his brain can blank out. Bucky just needs to get to Steve’s and pretend for a few hours that there’s no version of his future where Bucky potentially loses people (loses him).

He doesn’t want to waste time with the fucking _prep_ – he just wants to walk right into Steve’s, drop his pants, and have Steve fuck him so rough that he passes out. Unfortunately, he knows there’s no way in hell Steve would let that happen, even if Bucky begged for it. He supposes that shit falls under that fine line between hurting Bucky for pleasure and _really_ hurting him. Even that makes Bucky frustrated right now – makes him feel angry – and he’s not even there for Steve to deny him it yet.

Then he remembers what he’s got stashed away in his closet. Opening his eyes, Bucky inhales sharply and turns, practically running across the room and throwing open the door. He shoves aside the crap strewn around on the top shelf until he finds the little box. It’s disgusting – _is it disgusting, really?_ – how pulling it down, cradling it in his hands, and already anticipating that feeling of having it wedged inside of him feels like the first real semblance of _relief_ he’s felt in days.

It’s not the one Steve got for him, and Bucky hasn’t even used this one in months, but… it’s _good enough._ Walking back out into the room, Bucky goes and grabs his half-empty bottle of lube from the drawer next to his bed, before locking himself in the privacy of his washroom just _one_ last time.

* * *

 

Bucky hardly remembers the bus ride over to Steve’s. He spends it all with his headphones over his ears and music blaring so loudly that the back of his eyes are hurting. It’s the only way to drown out all the thoughts, because with every one, Bucky’s angrier with himself for falling off the rails this badly in the first place. 

He stares out the window but sees nothing; every passing building, every car driving by a constant mess of colors and nothing more. Someone gets on the bus and tries to ask Bucky if the seat next to him is taken, but Bucky doesn’t even hear them. He just notices that one minute, he’s sitting alone and the next, there’s a woman beside him.

The closer he gets, the more agitated he feels, because he knows how it’s almost within his grasp and if he doesn’t get it soon, he’s going to lose his shit. To try and ground himself, he subtly shifts his weight and grinds his ass against the stiff, worn-away bus cushion. When he presses just right, he’s rewarded with a sharp pressure; a dull ache in his ass that makes Bucky close his eyes for a moment and lick his lips.

It’s better, but still not hitting the spot; the one hurting in his very core. Really, it’s just enough to push that looming sense of panic down so it doesn’t swallow him whole. The last thing he needs is for it to turn into a panic _attack_ while he’s on the fucking bus _._

He’s scared that Steve will see just how fucked Bucky feels right now, and Bucky can’t have that because he doesn’t want them to talk – that’s the last thing he needs. If Steve gets him to talk, everything will come out; everything Bucky needs to avoid for just a little bit longer. Of all the times he’s been with Steve and offered himself for the taking, it’s never felt this _dire_ , and Bucky doesn’t know how to let himself shatter the way he needs to in Steve’s hands without making himself _too_ transparent.

He just knows he has no other choice right now but to take his chances.

He’s so spaced out that he almost misses his stop, but at the very last possible moment, he recognizes the street they’re about to pass and quickly yanks on the stop chord. He rises so abruptly that the women next to him startles, and Bucky _thinks_ he gives her an apology, but his music is still deafening him, so he can’t be sure.

He’s trying to remember Steve’s advice about baby steps. Just get off the bus, that’s all he needs to do right now. Just get off, and then it’s not that much farther of a walk to Steve’s house.

That ‘walk’ turns into a run, even though it makes his ass sting. It only makes Bucky run faster. He needs to get more of that - that pinch, the beautiful pressure... It’s so deep inside and it _hurts_ him a little, but it’s got his toes curling in his shoes because _it’s what he needs but still nowhere near enough_.

He sprints past everyone who crosses him on the sidewalks, never slowing, even when Bucky finally sees Steve’s place up ahead. The sight of it makes him so relieved, and he’s terrified, because it’s _right there_. His heart’s racing, and his lungs feel like they’re going to burst. Sweat’s starting to bead on his hairline; mists his upper lip.

He never stops running.

Bucky feels so fucking pathetic right now – and he needs Steve to give him _everything_ , but he also needs Steve not to notice that. When he gets to the door, he doesn’t even bother _knocking_. He just twists the handle and lets himself in. As he shuts the door behind him, locking it, he can hear movement from the living room.

Bucky’s beyond pleasantries. There's no greeting. Instead, he’s already kicking off his shoes; already peeling off his socks and leaving them bawled up right there in the front hallway.

From the living room at the end of the hall, Bucky sees Steve round the corner with a curious expression. Bucky yanks his headphones off and drops them and his phone to the ground, hearing the soft _crash_ but not even stopping to care whether he just went and cracked his screen or not. Bucky vaguely registers Steve taking in the frantic sight of him, how his face instantly washes over with concern.

“Buck, _Jesus Christ_ , what the fuck is going on--?” he hears Steve exhale, moving from the other end of the hall and striding towards him worriedly.

Bucky doesn’t answer. He can’t answer. He just needs Steve to _understand_ , he needs… He heads straight for Steve, too; eyes dark and his chest heaving with ragged breaths and his face flushed. Bucky grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it over his head, never stopping as he whips it somewhere off to the side.

Left in nothing but his jeans and _still_ too fully fucking clothed, Bucky crashes into him and grabs his face, cutting off the noise Steve makes in his throat – _maybe to say something else_ , _maybe to fuss over him first_ – and shuts him up with a kiss.

He’s all over the place, and he knows it. He just hopes Steve will ignore it, despite how much he can _feel_ the urgency in Steve to figure out what’s wrong here. He can feel it in the way Steve’s mouth meets every one of his fast, feverish kisses, but never without uncertainty. He makes a few stuttered sounds, like he wants to stop Bucky so he can get a word in. It infuriates Bucky that the way Steve’s hands reach up and palm Bucky’s shoulders is so _delicate_ and _safe_. That’s not what he fucking wants, and Steve should know that by now.

So Bucky doesn’t give him the chance to speak - and if Steve won’t bruise him and batter him on his own, then Bucky will make him get with the program until Steve has no fucking choice. So he tangles his fingers into Steve’s hair and fists it so roughly that the older man gasps against his mouth from the sudden pain. With his other hand, he presses against Steve’s lower back and tries to do away with as much room between them as possible; flesh to cotton, the front of Steve’s shirt scraping sweet against Bucky’s pecks. Bucky seals his mouth over Steve’s and kisses him _harder_.

Steve doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself at first, or what to do with _Bucky_ for that matter. He’s still palming Bucky’s shoulders; manages to get as far as breathing out, voice hoarse and low, “Buck--” until he’s shut right up again. Bucky bites his bottom lip between his teeth unforgivingly and tugs with a desperate growl – and suddenly, when he crushes their lips together again, something within Steve seems to click _._ Fucking _finally._

There’s the quickest moment of hesitation, but then one big hand flies up and palms the entire back of Bucky’s head. The other arm wraps around him, burying fingertips into Bucky’s side deep enough to be uncomfortable. Yeah, _yeah_ , that draws a moan from Bucky’s mouth, muffled as it slips into Steve’s and disappears.

Steve inhales loudly through his nose, and starts to kiss him back properly, darting his tongue against Bucky’s with the same strange sense of urgency – like Bucky’s fight or flight demeanor seeped straight into his skin and something inside of him _gets_ whatever it is Bucky’s feeling, even if he may not understand.

They teeter back and forth, Steve sometimes leaning forward into the kiss enough to get Bucky bending back; others, getting Steve stumbling back a few steps. No matter what happens, Steve never denies Bucky’s mouth against his, and Bucky might cry. Because Steve, Steve is perfection, he’s everything Bucky could ever want, and he can’t lose this moment.

Short, blunt hairs are scratching around his chin and rubbing it raw, and the smell of Steve’s cologne seems to encase him, and Steve’s tongue is somehow both _warm_ and _cool_ between his lips… Bucky’s dizzy and hard and he’s whimpering out, “Please, _please_ ,” between kisses without even realizing it.

Instead of questioning him, Steve pants against his mouth and promises, “I’m right here…”

The last time Bucky can remember feeling even remotely this off-kilter was the first night they played with orgasm denial. He’d barely remembered where he _was_ when he’d stumbled downstairs and walked into the kitchen, his cock so hard he felt like it’d split open if Steve didn’t let him come. The only difference is that he’s already at that point and Steve’s barely even touched him yet.

He opens his mouth to say something, but then he’s kissing Steve again and shoving his hands between them to start trying to get Steve’s pants open.

“No, wait – wait, stop,” Steve unexpectedly says. Bucky kisses him again because _no, please, just let me…_ Steve’s never had the willpower to deny Bucky’s lips when it’s this heated between them, so he still melts back into the kiss and lets himself get interrupted. But Bucky failed again, he wasn’t strong enough this time – because it’s only seconds before Steve then he makes a sound of protest and physically turns his face away to pant out, “Buck, _wait_.”

“No,” Bucky pleads, the word coming out like a croak. His hands are shaking so bad that he can’t seem to get that stupid fucking button undone, yet he doesn’t stop trying. It just makes the job sloppier and more frustrating.

Steve takes either side of his face in his hands in as gentle of a grip as he can, but when Bucky desperately tries to dive back in and steal another kiss before he can say anything, Steve ducks away and uses his strength to hold Bucky’s head still. He’s not going to let Bucky deflect him this time, he - he wants to _talk - no, please, don’t do this to me, don’t make me..._ Bucky suddenly panics.

“Bucky--”

“ _No_ \--”

“Buck, I need you to listen to--”

“Steve, please--” Bucky practically wails.

“Stop…” Steve’s tone is cautionary now; still protective, but hardening with every passing moment that Bucky defies him. It gets a dry, panicked _sob_ out of Bucky’s chest. In a last ditch effort, he struggles against the hands framing his face so he can lean in again and kiss Steve silent, but it’s futile. Steve’s too strong for him.

“Bucky!” Steve keeps repeating, looking scared but _sounding_ more and more impatient.

Bucky doesn’t even think he’s in charge of his own body anymore. He can’t think, and when he _tries_ to reel it in even a little, it’s like he can’t anymore. He’s out of control, but all he can do is hear himself continue to put up a fight; feel his hands keep trying to move of their own accord.

“No!” he hears himself argue.

“B--”

“No! Please!”

“I SAID _ENOUGH!_ ” Steve suddenly shouts. The way he tightens his grip on Bucky’s head – mixed with the very drastic change in tone – is what seizes Bucky and gets his hands to finally freeze. Like Steve’s just flipped a switch, Bucky snaps out of it enough to stop trying to claw at him so erratically. His lips part with a shallow inhale, and he suddenly realizes he has tears streaming down his face.

He never even realized he’d started crying.

But Steve _had_.

Right away, he’s soothing Bucky over by kissing from his temple to his forehead. Tone instantly much gentler now, he whispers, “Shh, easy… _Easy_ , baby… Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay, Buck… Breathe, just breathe for me, that’s it.”

Wrapping Bucky back up in his arms, he pulls him in and then holds him tight. He murmurs these little encouragements - in his ear, between kisses that scald Bucky’s skin - while Bucky stares off in a stunned silence, heart rate fighting to settle while the rest of him struggles to remember how to breathe again.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers, eyes wide in horror. He attempts to continue but has to swallow a few times to get the words out properly. Internally, he’s already trying to backtrack and figure out where exactly he’d lost control like that. He can’t pinpoint exactly when it’d happened; it was like he got his hands on Steve Rogers, and then everything else bled away into a blur. “I was… I was just… I don’t…”

“Shh, baby, breathe… Just talk to me, sweetheart; tell me what’s going on,” Steve instructs, as calm as he can possibly sound in the face of his concern.

What makes this whole thing worse is that this is _exactly_ what Bucky didn’t want to happen today. What Steve just witnessed wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg, not really. If all it took was _that_ much to get Steve this worried, there’s no way he can possibly handle the full extent of the truth. At the same time… this might be the perfect opportunity. If talking is what’s about to inevitably happen, then Bucky should just – he should just tell him. That’s what Bucky should do. Tell him about prom, and graduation, and University and let it all come pouring out. Rip the Band-Aid off, and pray for the best.

Except he’s a coward, and he knows he can’t lie to himself. He has no intention of getting into that today. He refuses to take even the slightest risk of losing this – losing _Steve_ – right now.

“Prom,” he chooses to say, settling for giving Steve a _version_ of the truth, if that’ll make him satisfied. “Prom… I can’t stop thinking about tonight, and just… I had a nightmare this morning. Dreamt you left me, guess I just…”

Steve pulls back and strokes Bucky’s cheek, staring at him intently. There’s so much worry in his eyes that Bucky hates himself a little more for keeping his real feelings – his _fears_ – from him. Steve would want to help; protect him and make things all better. It would probably kill him a little inside to know that Bucky didn’t trust Steve enough to feel safe about being honest. But it’s not that simple, _it’s not about that—_ and Bucky _can’t_ , he just--

He continues to speak, begins to rant: “I know it was just a dream – and I know I shouldn’t be so outta whack about all this shit, I – I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack. Last three days and I keep forgetting how to _breathe._  I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry right now, Steve, I _know_ I’m scarin’ you, I’m _sorry_ , I’m--”

“Hey, easy,” Steve cuts in again in a soothing tone, giving Bucky’s cheek a kiss. “Easy...” He kisses a second time, a bit closer to his mouth. Bringing his lips close to Bucky’s, Steve nods and reassures him in a whisper, “There’s absolutely no need to apologize to me. You’re feeling overwhelmed. Right now it – it doesn’t matter what the reason is. Baby? Everyone’s allowed to fall apart once in a while; doesn’t mean you’re weak or that you should feel ashamed of yourself. Okay?”

He presses his lips to Bucky’s, and Bucky – the weak _bastard_ – whimpers brokenly in the back of his throat.

“Okay?” Steve presses.

Bucky closes his eyes and nods. When he takes a deep breath and then releases it, it feels like something chisels the thinnest shard away from the panic making his chest tight. _He just needs this…_

“I saw something was wrong yesterday,” Steve admits with a sigh. Kissing Bucky again – Bucky’s losing track of them, he just knows they feel nice and he doesn’t want Steve to stop– he says, “I should’ve… Fuck, I’m so sorry, I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve said something, and… and when you deflected me, I should’ve stepped in. That’s what you needed, wasn’t it? You needed me to hear what you were too afraid to tell me?”

It’s a genuine question. Bucky doesn’t know how to answer it.

“Goddamn it, Bucky, I’m so sorry,” Steve laments. He begins to slowly kiss all across Bucky’s face. Each and every one keeps chiseling at that invisible knot, sliver by sliver. It’s as if Bucky can physically _feel_ it beginning to shrink, just a little. As one minutes passes into the next, his breathing starts to even out. He’s trying to focus on nothing but the sound of Steve’s voice, so it can drown out and silence the chaos screaming on loop inside of his brain.

“I let you get this bad. You’re my responsibility, I shouldn’t’ve… I won’t let it happen again, Buck, I promise... I promise. Can you forgive me? Please, tell me how to make this better, baby. Tell me what you need from me, I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

Bucky’s got Steve’s left hand cradling his cheek and Steve’s lips caressing the other. He opens his mouth to answer but only winds up letting out a sigh. He’s so tired, like he doesn’t even have the strength for explanations anymore. Not just the sort of tired that weakens your muscles, your _joints_ , but the one that runs deeper, drilling straight into your bones until they weigh heavy like lead…

He tips his face against that hand and nuzzles it. Steve responds to the slight arch in Bucky’s neck by trailing his mouth down it, kissing the curve with as much affection as there could ever be in a kiss.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers again when his lips are ghosting back in front of Bucky’s ear.

Bucky tries to answer properly this time, but every _single_ thing Steve’s doing is making his body feel like it’s becoming wrapped up in a warm blanket. It’s addictive – being so tense for so long, like you want to do nothing but scream your vocal chords bloody, only to finally start calming down. Bucky’s greedy – _you’re so fucking selfish right now_ – because he’ll take this and run with it. Deal with reality later. Try to lose himself in the _now_.

Baby steps, Steve had said. All he needs to focus on in this moment is not try to fight what Steve’s doing to him… Just let go and allow his body to take its treatment…

Whatever words he tries to give come out all slurred. He’s concentrating too hard on memorizing the sensations being lavished upon him; trying to push away everything else. He’s beginning to feel sluggish, his skin’s getting warmer and warmer _…_

“What?” Steve quietly asks, still alternating between kissing Bucky’s temple and the back of his jaw. “What’d you say, baby?”

“Need you to… I need’ta…” Bucky swallows, not knowing how to articulateit. He needs _everything_. How can he possibly sum that up so simply? He just… he’s so beaten down from everything lately. That switch inside of him that cares too much needs to be turned off.

Solace. Relief. Freedom. Bucky needs Steve to exonerate him and show him mercy. He needs that feeling of floating back. Floating, and flying, _too high to care_ , so the world can’t touch him anymore… before that weight on his shoulders conquers him; crushes him into the ground and shatters his kneecaps to dust…

 _Make me forget about it_ , he thinks. His lips form around the syllables at the same time, translating that silent plea into real words. “Please. I just… Just for a little bit…”

“I got you, baby. It’s okay, I got you,” Steve answers. “Can you stand still for me for a second? I just need to run to the couch – just two seconds and I’ll be right back. Okay?”

Eyes still closed, Bucky’s mouth twists up into a frown, but he nods anyway. If Steve wants him to stay still, he’ll stay still. At this point, he’ll do anything. He just wants to be _good_ – wants Steve to see that and be proud of him for it. Steve’s hands leave his face as he turns to walk away. _Be good, be good, you have to be good_.

But the spots where they’d just been now feel cold, and Bucky doesn’t like it. He can hear Steve’s footsteps, and he knows the couch is only a few feet away, but the distance between him and his merciful Steve might as well span the length of the entire planet. For that brief second in time while he stands there waiting, he feels so _alone_ again.

Alone, and naked, and exposed, and just a kid--

_‘You really think I was serious about having a life with you? You’re nothing but a kid, Bucky, that’s disgusting.’_

Bucky’s jaw is clenched, face back to being all pinched up when Steve quickly comes back to him. “It’s okay, Buck, I’m gonna make everything better now,” Steve’s muttering under his breath. Like it’s not even Bucky he’s speaking to anymore, but _himself_ he’s trying to reassure.

There’s the quickest little _cling_ of metal on metal, sending Bucky’s pulse sky-high without any warning. Squeezing his eyes shut tighter, the sound of Steve’s fingers undoing the leather – a buckle being opened up – fills his ears. It’s morphine, instant morphine in his veins. It makes him dizzy, getting the pit of his stomach dropping while his skin begins to prickle. Bucky’s grabbing onto the fabric of his jeans with white knuckles to stop himself from moving.

He hasn’t been given permission. He can’t move until Steve tells him he can.

_Be good, be good, he can be good, you’ve got to be good, he can do it, he can try…_

Knowing it’s coming makes him hyper-aware of how bare his throat is right now. Even though Steve’s moving as swiftly as he can, it’s still an eternity for Bucky. He grounds his teeth together harder, whimpering once – uncontrollably. Like he’s dying for it. He _is._

“Here we go, Buck. Just breathe, relax.”

The comforting strip of leather suddenly presses to Bucky’s Adam’s apple, wrapping right around him as Steve slips it on. It’s soft on the inside, softer than leather would appear, and Bucky’s missed it so much – the smell, the temperature, the way his tag nestles in and finds its home back in the little hollow in his throat, like it was never meant to leave.

Steve’s standing real close now, his stomach bumping into Bucky’s while he leans to the side so he can get a look at what he’s doing; make sure it’s done up just right. It squeezes beautifully around Bucky’s neck when he feels Steve slide the leather strap through the buckle and then _pull_ , allowing for the prong to fit into its usual place.

“Tighter,” Bucky whispers. He doesn’t want _snug_ this time. Even more than that, he doesn’t want _safe_. He wants the comfort, but he doesn’t want the _familiarity_. What he needs is to be pushed, beyond every limit he has and everything he thought he ever knew.

“Tighter?” Steve asks uncertainly. But when Bucky licks his lips and pleads with him – _yes, yes please_ – Steve only hesitates for a few seconds before replying, “Alright. Just one, though. Any more than that and you won’t be able to breathe.”

 _Good_.

Bucky knows better than to say that.

The collar shoves against his Adam’s apple more intrusively. For a second, there’s the sensation of getting choked, making Buck’s breath catch. Steve uses his thumb to flick the prong and guide it into the tiny hole in the leather. In that brief moment while he tries to adjust, Bucky feels like he _can’t_ actually breathe, and…

 _It’s glorious_. It’s enough to get blood rushing to his head, making the world spin on its axis around him for the length of a heartbeat. Enough to get a moan slipping out of Bucky’s lungs, and his hands quickly grabbing Steve’s hips so he doesn’t go crashing over when he feels himself waver on his feet.

“You okay?” Steve quickly asks, catching Bucky’s sides in big hands to steady him.

Bucky hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. He might be starting to smile now, able to breathe again as his body gets used to the added pressure hugging his throat. It’s still foreign enough that it’s got adrenaline pumping to the tips of his fingers and toes as his body’s natural defenses kick in - tricked into thinking it’s in danger, but Bucky knows better. _Oh god, so nice._

“Yes,” Bucky answers. This is the closest to blissful that he’s felt in so long... Still not enough yet, but it shuts off the noise in his brain for a few precious seconds, and that’s something. Eyelashes fluttering up, he finally opens his eyes. Steve’s _right there,_ and it’s the greatest sight Bucky could ever be met with. He wishes he didn’t have to look at anything else ever again.

Steve scans his face, nodding to himself as he takes the back of Bucky’s head in one hand. “Too tight?” he asks. He, on the other hand, still sounds hesitant. No good, that’s _no good--_

Bucky shakes his head. He wants to tell him it’s perfect, _Steve’s_ perfect – Bucky wants to beg him never to go anywhere, and apologize for things he hasn’t even done yet. He wants to thank him and ask for _more_ , and drop to his knees and kiss his feet, or be shoved over the table and split apart. He wants it all – _you’re so greedy, you’re so fucking selfish_ – but all he manages to beg for is, “Tell me I’m good.”

Steve’s brows furrow in a sad sort of confusion at Bucky’s unexpected response. His lips part, but before he can say anything, Bucky leans in and kisses him quickly, roughly - desperate to spell out for Steve _exactly_ the way Bucky deserves to be treated right now. What Bucky doesn’t deserve is _gentle_.

“Tell me I’m good,” he pleads again. His voice is starting to crack, just like the rest of him....

Steve’s automatic response is to dig his fingers into Bucky’s skin. It’s painful but somehow comforting, because above all else, Bucky knows it’s being done out of love. Anchoring him; forcing him to stay right where they are. Steve touches him with bruising hands because he wants to keep Bucky safe – in his clutches, all for himself… Bucky’s so lucky. He’s so lucky and so terrified to lose this.

It takes a couple seconds, but then Steve makes a short, grief-stricken sound and finally kisses him with just as much conviction. Whereas Bucky’s movements radiate desperation, Steve’s reflect nothing but unfiltered possessiveness; the guilt behind feeling like he let Bucky down and the need to make up for it and set things right.

“You’re good, Buck,” he breathes against Bucky’s opened mouth.

Bucky moans, pitchy and all over the place, as he licks between Steve’s lips so he can feel Steve’s tongue beating back against his. He sucks Steve’s bottom lip into his mouth. When he bites down, Steve releases a hot groan, and _yes, yes, this is what Bucky was born to do – make Steve happy if he’ll let him. He just wants to make Steve happy, he can’t lose this, Bucky can never lose this or he’ll die, please don’t leave me, please—_

“Tell me I’m good…”

“You’re so good for me, you’re perfect,” Steve husks back. “My good little boy--”

Bucky whimpers uncontrollably, igniting another kiss. Steve releases a harsh breath against his face when they break apart, both their eyes still shut as their lips remain close enough to brush together. For a moment, they’re frozen against each other – nothing but breathing and waiting to see which one will dive back in first.

Steve moves abruptly, suddenly bending his knees and crouching just long enough to grab hold beneath Bucky’s ass. In one fluid motion, Bucky gasps as he’s lifted straight into the air. Steve hoists him up like he weighs nothing at all. Something about that is always enough to get Bucky’s dick so fucking hard – to be made to feel so powerless, but taken care of at the same time. So helpless when in Steve’s hands - so _dependent_ on him, just like Bucky’s always wanted.

Curling his back so he can lean in and press his temple to Steve’s cheek, Bucky thinks his own might be wet again; tears tasting of salt and hurt, desperation and _need._ He immediately wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, crossing his ankles against the small of his back as he drapes his long arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

He has to trust this man with everything he has, not to let go. Not to let him fall...

Steve cradles him close and promises, “Always my good little boy,” before turning his face in and stealing Bucky’s mouth back. At the same time, Bucky feels them turn towards the dining room table. Bucky clings to him, licking and biting at Steve’s perfect lips until he’s growing delirious with the taste.

When Steve suddenly deposits him onto the tabletop, Bucky’s unprepared. His ass hits the polished wood first, dropping all of his weight onto that _one spot_ ; driving his secret even deeper into his ass _._ A lightning bolt combination of discomfort and ecstasy rockets up his spine, escaping Bucky’s mouth in a cry.

Steve startles a bit at the sound, none the wiser. “What – are you okay?” he quickly asks.

“Yeah, _yeah_ ,” Bucky gasps, spreading his legs and grabbing the front of Steve’s shirt to tug him back in. He can’t help it – as Steve holds his face in his hands and continues to kiss him breathless, Bucky grinds as hard as he can against the table. He’s got Steve’s ass in his hands from over his pants. Rhythmically Bucky pushes, so the friction can make his eyes roll up from behind closed lids whenever Steve’s crotch scrapes against his rolling hips.

“Jesus Christ, Buck - _ah_... _God_...” Steve groans, still sounding unprepared by Bucky’s behavior; still unsure as to whether he’s doing enough right now or not. But he’s also making no move to fight every pull Bucky forces from his body. Maybe Steve is just as selfish – standing there, reaping pleasure from the press of his dick rubbing between the vice grip of Bucky's thighs.

 _That’s_ who Bucky needs right now - his incredible, selfish, beautifully ruthless Steve. Bucky’s got to broken, and tender hands can’t do such a thing.

He's already just as hard as Bucky. He must be so strained against his pants, and all Bucky wants to do is free him - get his lips obscenely stretched tight while he stares up and looks at him just the way Steve likes... Bat his eyelashes a little, maybe sputter softly to remind Steve that no one can choke Bucky quite like he can. Bucky can do that for him; he can remind Steve as much as he needs to that for him, there'll _never_ be anyone else. He can make Steve sing Bucky's name, like that's the only reason Bucky was ever given it at all.

If he proves himself so Steve never has room for doubt, maybe the feeling will be mutual. Maybe Steve will never let him go, even when...

 _No_ , he can't think of that. Not now. _Please not now._ It gets that panic trying to crawl back into his chest and yank him straight down to earth again, and Bucky's only just started letting his hands touch the clouds. He can practically taste them on his tongue: soft and airy, sweet and peaceful. He’s too hungry to give that up without fighting to the death first.

“Sir,” he chokes out with distress. Tension tries to get reacquainted with his muscles and settle back in, and before Bucky can help himself, he’s starting to grow taut in Steve’s hands again. Too easily wound up – too rattled, he needs _more_ , he needs so much fucking more, _so fucking selfish, you stupid kid_ – and with that one word, that's all Steve seems to need to understand the fervor in Bucky’s plea.

Steve reaches one hand between them to snag the loop of Bucky's collar and tug sharply. With a soft gasp, Bucky's eyes fly wide. Steve’s blurry. He isn't sure whether he's tearing up again or if his focus is just as hazy as his brain.

That simple action jars him, giving him the grounding he sorely needed; zeroing his senses back to Steve and Steve alone. The heat - that _darkness_ Bucky’s so honest-to-god in love with - in Steve's eyes is so reverent and overwhelming that it makes Bucky's throat dry. It's like Steve only needs to look at him like this, and Bucky truly believes he's as special as Steve tells him he is.

“Don't go anywhere on me,” Steve orders, voice husky and smooth on Bucky’s senses like liquid velvet. Since Bucky stopped directing his movements, he picks up the slack and continues to thrust himself against Bucky's cock. “I'm here... I'll protect you, I promise. Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. Stay with me...”

Bucky's mouth is ajar, the rest of him bereft of words, _so goddamn appreciative_. It's so fucking relieving to have commands to follow. It keeps his brain focused; ignites the parts of his body that react on instinct alone. No need to think – just do, just _be._ Unblinking, Bucky nods.

Steve mutters, “Good boy,” and then silences the moan Bucky lets out by dragging his tongue across his bottom lip, then flicking it in deeper to graze the flat of Bucky's own.

“Where are you, baby?” Steve patiently asks when he pulls back.

Bucky swallows. “With you.”

“Does anything else matter when you're with me?”

As light as the way Steve’s staring at him is making him feel – forcing the anchors wrapped around his ankles to loosen up and finally drop free – it’s also simultaneously like he’s beginning to melt into the table. He wonders if there will be any piece of him left by the time Steve’s finished.

“No, sir,” he whispers.

Steve kisses him again, just once. One reward for one right answer. Before Bucky can even close his eyes and lose himself in it, Steve pulls away again to ask next, “What's the only thing that matters when you're with me? What's the only thing I need you to worry about?”

Bucky can feel Steve's left hand touch his belly as he starts to undo the button in his jeans. Bucky wants to peer down and watch, but at the last second remembers the rule. He keeps his eyes only on Steve, because Steve's all that matters. Steve's the only thing that exists - Bucky's personal savior. The only god he'll ever bow down to and worship.

“You... taking care of me...” Bucky breathes out. “Obeying you...”

“That's right, little boy. That's exactly right,” Steve replies adoringly. Slowly tugging Bucky's zipper down, he chastely kisses at Bucky's mouth one last time when he then adds, “Eyes on me. Don't look away. Stay right here with me.”

“I will,” Bucky promises. There’s nowhere else he would rather be.

Staring up at him from under his lashes, Steve starts to sink lower. His baby blues don’t close until his lips are brushing into the sparse chest hairs sprinkling along Bucky’s pecks. Bucky’s mouth tips open with a satiated sigh as Steve begins stamping kisses over to his right nipple.

Welcoming it between his lips, Steve gives it a few languorous sucks before opening his mouth so Bucky can watch Steve roll around it with the tip of his tongue. After giving the other one the same attentive care, Steve starts to trail lower – leaving Bucky’s flush just a bit darker, his nipples just a bit harder, and his breathing just a bit quicker.

But still, Bucky never looks away.

The expression Steve wears can only be described as _sinful_ when he gets to Bucky's opened fly and glances back up. “Eyes on me,” Steve reminds him. “Watch how beautiful your dick looks in my mouth... You're so fucking gorgeous, Buck, I want you to see it...”

Leaning back onto his forearms, Bucky arches and wiggles, moving accordingly so Steve can curl his fingers in the waistline of his clothing and start dragging his pants and underwear down his legs. Excitement twists in Bucky's gut; spools and dances up his spine with every inch those clothes peel more off of his body.

Because Steve's eyes are still boring up into his own, _and_ _Bucky knows something he doesn't_... Stay good, _Bucky needs to behave_ , and so he never looks away from his face. It’s not like he even wants to. He wants to see when Steve sees... Wants Steve to be so happy with him for coming prepared like this...

Steve straightens to finish tugging them off. After dropping the clothing to the floor, he grabs Bucky's calves and goes to push them in, spreading Bucky's legs so he’s bent at the knees. Licking his lips, Bucky’s pulse is pounding in his ears as he watches Steve’s gaze flicker down - _finally_ \- to where he’s parted and on display, all for him, _only for him, ‘till the day he dies_ \--

Steve's jaw drops. His eyes actually turn to saucers as he stands before Bucky in a tableau of shock; hands still holding Bucky’s legs open and eyes stuck downward. Bucky can’t even hear him breathing anymore – not until Steve remembers words and begins to stammer out, “Buck... You - oh Jesus Christ, _oh my_ _sweet fucking lord_ \--”

Top teeth digging into his bottom lip, Bucky smiles shyly to himself and takes the initiative to tip his legs open even wider. Against his belly, his cockhead is already drooling out thin little dribbles of precome into his treasure trail. Now knowing his hole is on display - _stretched big and stuffed full with that black anal plug Bucky secretly bought himself on his fifteenth birthday_ \- makes Bucky even more acute to how fucking nice that thing feels inside of him. It’s been so long since he’d last worn one that he’d forgotten.

He doesn't even care right now. It could _hurt_ and Bucky would only want to know that Steve likes it. Then Bucky would wear it in his body all goddamn day. All year. Until he _died_ , if that's what Steve commanded.

“Do you like it?” Bucky asks eagerly.

“Oh my god,” Steve exhales, still gaping – still fixated on Bucky's asshole, like the rest of the world just ceased to exist.

Bucky blushes pink, his flush finally migrating past his chest and crawling down to his belly button while he preens from the compliment. “Am I pretty, sir?” he continues, using every ounce of air in his lungs just to get the words out. “Am I pretty for you?”

When Steve doesn’t answer but only continues to stare, completely stunned, doubt unexpectedly flickers through Bucky’s mind. He’s not used to feeling this way about his body, and he’s never once felt shy in front of Steve for the _wrong_ reasons. But he suddenly is now – because even though they’d agreed to try plugs on Bucky in the past, this is the first time it’s actually happening. And the thing is, sometimes Bucky forgets that he’s the first person Steve’s ever done _any_ of this with – which means that there was always the room for Steve _not_ to like it once they did try.

The only other time Bucky can recall being self-conscious about whether someone was turned on by his body or not was back when he first lost his virginity. That feels like another lifetime ago; back before sex stopped meaning anything to him and was only done for fun. Then Steve came along and changed everything.

Even as far back as their very first time, it’s always been different. It’s always meant _more_ , and Bucky’s never felt uncertainty. He’s always been confident about how he looks, everywhere. He loves being looked at, like he’s a beautiful toy on display – something worth admiring and yearning after. With everyone else in the past, _yeah_ , it was always flattering to have people see him that way. But with Steve, it’s a thing – a _privilege_ – Bucky would murder for.

With everything going on recently, though, Steve’s delay in answering his question and giving any praise makes Bucky panic. Bucky supposes it _is_ one thing for his body to be so stretched from having Steve’s cock in it, versus being this stretched by a toy. Maybe the look on Steve’s face isn’t an endearing one. Maybe Steve hasn’t said anything yet because there’s nothing positive he _wants_ to say.

The thought that Steve might be turned _off_ – or even disgusted – by what he’s seeing is enough to get Bucky breaking eye contact, _breaking the rules_. At the same time, he begins to bring his legs together again, like that could help him hide.

Throat tight with humiliation, Bucky chokes out pathetically, “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked, I thought you’d--”

Steve grabs his knees before they can knock together and just as bluntly _shoves_ Bucky’s legs apart again. Bucky – having started to push himself up to get off the table – collapses back down onto his forearms from the unexpected action, eyes widening with a tiny, unprepared sound in his throat as his gaze snaps back to Steve.

He isn’t prepared to see how flushed the apples of Steve’s cheeks suddenly are; how it’s spread all down his neck, making the skin all scarlet and blotchy until it disappears beneath the collar of his shirt.

Steve’s stare is still stuck down between Bucky’s thighs, having never looked away. His shoulders rising and falling silently, Steve’s breathing quicker as something _animalistic_ washes over his normally gentle baby blues. What is _usu_ _ally_ blue, anyways – right now, his eyes might as well be black as night’s sky, void of any stars to soften the edges. Each and every possible one, already swallowed up into darkness.

“Don’t move,” he orders breathlessly, “I didn’t say you could move…”

He’s _awestruck_ – that’s why he’s having trouble finding words right away, it must be. Bucky’s never seen anybody look at anything the way Steve’s looking at him now. A fresh wave of white hot fire stirs in his balls before blooming all across his body, coming out of the tip of his dick in another small rush of precome. Another head rush, another sliver of the whole world spinning around them while they are the only things to remain still.

Just as fast as it’d come, Bucky’s reservations disappear with the smallest little groan in the back of his throat. For just a split second, he’d felt _ugly_. He’d doubted – god, he’s such a fool. He really should’ve known better. Of _course_ Steve would never think something like that about him; Steve treats Bucky like he’s royalty. He looks at Bucky like he’s something that should be framed and hung up on a gallery wall for all the world to see, envy… Steve would never strap that collar around his throat and then let Bucky feel anything but perfect.

In Steve’s eyes, Bucky is _always_ gorgeous, and so that’s how Bucky feels again. Gorgeous for his Stevie.

Like a good little boy, he shows his apology by once again tipping his legs open wider so Steve can have a better look. Lids drooping the slightest bit, Bucky tips his head back so he can wet his lips with a shaky breath, before tucking his chin to his chest so he can listen to the _other_ rule he’d been given, and make sure he’s keeping his eyes back on Steve.

Steve slowly drops to his knees, his hands sliding from Bucky’s own kneecaps to those little crooks right behind them where Bucky’s already getting sweaty. Getting a nice grip on Bucky’s inner thighs, Steve keeps Bucky in place, so he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. Lucky for them both, Bucky has no plans on going anywhere now.

He wants Steve to get his fill and looks for as long as humanly possible. Steve could probably make him come just from this if he kept it up long enough. He has no idea the effect he has on Bucky, he really fucking doesn’t.

When Steve suddenly exhales an overwhelmed rush of air and dives in, noisily kissing from one thigh to the next, Bucky has a hard time fighting to keep from letting his head loll back in pleasure. The closer those lips get to his hole, the rougher Bucky’s breathing gets; the more he wants to close his eyes so he can focus on nothing but how it _feels_. But though Steve isn’t meeting his eyes, Bucky knows he can still been seen in Steve’s peripherals. If Bucky breaks the rules again, Steve might punish him by stopping.

This is one of those moments where Bucky can’t have him stop, not even for a second.

“God Bucky, _Bucky_ ,” he can vaguely hear Steve muttering from under his breath, and Bucky realizes Steve’s talking to himself again; his stream of consciousness that Steve might not even realize he’s voicing aloud.

Steve’s eyes close – brows tightly knit – and he fucking _moans_ when he suddenly begins licking flat and wet and hungrily all over Bucky. His balls. The base of his cock. All around the strained outline of his hole, and even over the plug itself. Bucky’s not strong enough; his nose scrunches up as he pushes out a wobbly cry. He _tries_ for as long as he can, he really does.  _H_ _and-to-god_ , he _does._

His chest heaves, exhaling a small whimper with every other breath, and he balances his weight all on one arm so he can bury his other hand in Steve’s hair and clutch, but… eventually it’s too much. His head drops back between his shoulder blades, the arch making his Adam’s apple push uncomfortably against the front of his collar, making him _choke_ over a gasp, making him _moan_ even hotter because of it. His gaze is stuck up on the ceiling, but then Steve’s _growling_ all to himself, taking the base of the plug in his fingers and twisting.

Bucky’s eyes roll straight up into his head.

Steve no longer seems to care that Bucky broke orders. He’s making all these insatiable, guttural noises in his throat, like he’s the one having so much ecstasy crashing over him. One moment Bucky’s got that deeply-rooted pleasure stuffing him open. The next, he’s suddenly empty as Steve slips it out in one fluid motion. There’s a brief second where all of Steve’s sounds suddenly stop, but then the man _groans_ so loudly – like he’s so startled, in the best way possible, by the sight it’s rewarded him with.

Bucky’s too gone, too lost in the rush of endorphins flooding every cell in his body to keep up with it. He’s aware Steve’s removed the anal plug, and he’s aware he’s gaping right now – _he can feel it, the looseness, the cool air brushing against the wetness of the lube coating him inside and out_ – and he _wants_ to lift his head to see Steve’s reaction, but it’s too heavy and Bucky doesn’t have the strength right now to try.

However, he can _hear_ Steve when he suddenly begins to say, “Oh god, oh _god_ baby, you’re - you’re so – fuck, _fuck baby_ , I can see right inside you. This is incredible, _oh my god_ sweet boy, you’re so fucking beautiful – Lord in Heaven…”

Bucky’s arms lose their strength and he’s reduced to his back on that dining room table, because Steve then cuts himself off by slotting his entire mouth over Bucky’s gaping hole and shoving as much of his tongue as he can _straight_ into his ass. Bucky’s spine bridges with a squeal. It may not be as deep, but it’s a million fucking times better than any plug in the world.

Hot and soft and slick, and _fuck oh fuck_ _,_ Bucky’s never had so much of anyone’s tongue buried so far in his body before. He reaches above his head with one hand so he can grip the edge of the table, instantly white-knuckling it.

He writhes uncontrollably against the surface, desperately trying to roll his hips as much as he can and fuck himself back down onto Steve’s tongue, even though he couldn’t possibly take it any deeper if they tried. Inhibitions shattering around him more and more with every passing second that he’s a victim of Steve’s ruthless onslaught, Bucky’s whimpers escalate into gasps and moans, long and languid.

When Steve begins to hum against him, throaty and low – the sound vibrating against all of Bucky’s sensitive spots while he wiggles his tongue and stirs up Bucky’s insides – he’s reduced to _shouting_. Mostly Steve’s name, or chanting _oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck_ … Rimming tends to rip Bucky apart in general, it never fails, but _this_ \--

Bucky’s seeing the face of God, and he’s not even a believer. Because he’s got Steve’s entire fucking face pressed to his cheeks – facial hair scraping away at the sensitive skin like sandpaper - and keeps fucking the heavy weight, the _length_ of his tongue in and out of him, over and over and over again. Because whenever he pushes it back in, it’s rooted so deep inside that Steve’s nose is pressing tightly against Bucky’s balls, or up against his perineum.

With every single thing he does, it’s forcing fireworks to detonate across Bucky’s body – _everywhere_ , all at once.

And Steve… Steve’s going to town on him so enthusiastically that Bucky can feel spit all over his cheeks. It must be all over Steve’s chin, and Steve _moans_ – he moans so loudly, almost as loudly as Bucky is, the entire time he’s doing it. Bucky doesn’t know what’s sexier: what Steve’s doing to him, or how Steve’s _reacting_ to it himself. Bucky isn’t sure how to possibly break that tie.

His dick is painfully hard against his stomach, and he’s going to come all over himself if Steve doesn’t stop soon. He tries to say as much; warn him, just in case Steve doesn’t want him to just yet. But whenever he opens his mouth with words on his tongue, a cry rushes out and steals their place instead.

Bucky’s chest is misted with sweat and when he rolls his spine against polished wood, there’s so much precome in the hairs below his navel – some wet, some dry – that it tugs as them and causes them to pinch. His cock is so swollen and his hole, so exposed and claimed by Steve’s mouth. _Sir, sir, oh fuck, I’m gonna come, gonna come_ \--

It only comes out as another whorish cry.

Steve doesn’t even give him a chance. Bucky’s nothing but a slave to Steve’s ministrations, and knowing that full well, Steve sends him spiraling right off the edge. One second he’s rhythmically sliding as much of his tongue as he can _in_ and _out_ of Bucky’s body, and then he’s pulling it out completely so he can do nothing but slip the very _tip_ of it inside and trace circles around Bucky’s oversensitive rim. His nerves are buzzing bright, and goosebumps ripple from Bucky’s toes to every last hair on his head.

What sets him off is the fact that Steve’s licking full, continuous circles around him, _in_ him – and there’s still room in there to spare. Bucky’s so stretched for him, so open and inviting, _all for Steve Rogers_ , he’s Steve’s property, and Steve’s making sure he knows it; never knows anything different, and--

Bucky sobs out one single, wrecked note. Panting harshly, he digs the back of his head into the table as he arches again, feeling his orgasm burst all around him and painting his stomach in warm, wet stripes. Some of it even splashes against his neck and dirties the front of his collar.

Steve nurses him through it, alternating between tracing more of those loving circles, and dipping his tongue in a tiny bit further so he can flick it and give his insides these precious little kitten licks. They tickle, and they’re _so fucking delicious, they feel so good_ … Bucky comes and comes until his pulse is hammering away against his temples and he feels like he can’t breathe anymore.

Steve pulls away still groaning, low and pleased. Bucky’s too caught up in riding out the remaining tremors of his climax that he doesn’t even have the mind to care if perhaps Steve _will_ be upset with him for coming in the first place. Evidently, though, that’s the farthest thought from Steve’s mind – if the way he massages Bucky’s inner thighs and rises back up so he can drag his tongue across Bucky’s stomach is any indication.

It’s eager but tender now; a soothing, doting contrast to the way Steve had just handled him. Bucky exhales weak little moans, from both the feeling of Steve’s tongue gathering up every line of come to swallow down greedily, all for himself, _and_ the way he’ll hear Steve hum with content each time he does. After working his way up to Bucky’s neck, Steve licks away the last thin spurt that’d landed over flesh and leather, but doesn’t swallow.

Instead, he keeps that very last trace of Bucky’s release coating his tongue. Bucky’s mouth is still petered open, still drawing in shallow breaths that come out just as shaky. When Steve drapes his fully clothed body over Bucky’s naked one, he covers Bucky’s mouth with his own, tongue rubbing right between Bucky’s lips.

He can taste himself, just like Steve wants him to. Bucky thinks it’s always been fate – that he’s never tasted so good until his taste was mixed with Steve’s. He swallows his come with a tired hum of his own, feeling his heart swell warmly at the ginger way Steve kisses at his lips; frames the top of Bucky’s head in his hands and absentmindedly smoothes Bucky’s sweaty bangs off his forehead with his thumbs.

“I love you,” Bucky gathers enough strength to whisper.

Steve tilts his face to the other side and pecks his lips again. Lifting his face, he inhales deeply as he presses his lips to Bucky’s forehead. When he nuzzles the tips of their noses together, Steve answers, “I love you too, sweetheart. How you feeling, good?”

“Mhm… That was amazing.”

“Good. Check in with me, baby: you wanna stop, or do you need more?”

Slowly, Bucky opens his eyes. Steve’s face is so close that for a second, he looks cross-eyed. He smells like sweat, and lube, and _Bucky_. It’s so fucking hot. His pupils are still dilated and his flush hasn’t gone anywhere. Bucky can feel his own chest, no less scalding beneath Steve’s.

Mentally, he still does a check-in. That was good, but by no means enough to pacify everything he’s been feeling lately. He still needs Steve to break him, and he can only hope to god that Steve won’t question him on it now that he’s had a chance to calm down a little.

“More,” he quietly answers.

At first, Steve is still _Steve_. He registers Bucky’s request and looks for that split second like he’s letting it sink in. At first, Steve is still _Steve_ and more than anything, Bucky sees in his eyes that man who would sooner give a fly a bath and send it on its way than hurt it.

He sees the man who looks at Bucky like he’s made of silk and should be touched _slowly_ , as if to savor the privilege of getting to touch any inch of him at all… Who makes loves to him with such devout consideration; tracing Bucky’s curves with his fingertips and brushing his skin with feather-like kisses, whispering promises of forever into his ear when they’re wrapped up together at night…

But then Steve is no longer Steve.

All Bucky gets as a precaution is the quickest flash of steel hardening his gaze, and then suddenly the left hand that’d been resting lightly on the top of his head fists into his hair. Before Bucky knows what’s happening, Steve’s gripping him by the roots and yanking enough to get Bucky’s throat arching back against his collar again. A shrill gasp fills the room. Even though it makes Bucky’s vision fuzzy at the corners, he doesn’t miss the way Steve bares his teeth at the sound, hissing under his breath in satisfaction.

“More, that’s what you want?” Steve asks; _taunts_. “This what you wanted?"

Bucky’s staring at the ceiling again, mouth hung open. His skull is stinging pretty bad, and it’s making his heart race like he hadn’t even come just now. For just a moment, the ceiling blurs out, but then he blinks and it comes back into focus. Dropping his gaze down to meet Steve’s, Bucky meekly stammers out, “Y-Yes.”

Never easing up his grip in Bucky’s hair, Steve brings his other hand down and smacks the outside of Bucky’s left thigh, still loosely pressed to Steve’s side. It all happens so fast that Bucky doesn’t even have time to register the hit until the sharp sting kisses his flesh. It’s not a forgiving hit, either. It hurts, and Bucky’s thrilled when the sharp lick of pain reverberates all the way in his softened cock, making it twitch against his pelvis; already forcing it to show signs of life again. Bucky moans loudly.

Bringing his face in close, Steve snarls, “Yes _what?_ ”

Bucky moans again, right against Steve’s lips, before exhaling quickly, “Yes _sir_ , yessir, _yes_ , please--”

The table groans underneath them every time Steve shuffles even the tiniest bit. At this point, it could break and send them crashing to the ground, and Bucky wouldn’t be pulled out of this. He’d cling to Steve and beg him to fuck him in the remains, if that’s what was demanded of him. Steve teases his lips across Bucky’s, but doesn’t reward Bucky with what he wants.

Instead, he sneers. “You’re such a greedy little boy, aren’t you? One orgasm just wasn’t enough – no, you want _more_ ,” he says. “I could fill you up until you were leaking with me for days and you’d still be begging me for more, _more, more_ , wouldn’t you?”

Tears spring to Bucky’s eyes, prickling the corners. His face is getting hotter, like Steve’s just caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to. _Shame_. He feels shame, because it’s true. He _is_ greedy, that’s what this is all about. It’s why he’s lying to Steve’s face. It’s fucking messed up, but he also feels that familiar sense of _elation_ that he always gets the moment Steve talks down to him like this. It makes Bucky horny beyond compare, because being called out in the face of his guilt is so fucking freeing.

He deserves this, and it feels so good to get it – be punished for his sins and absolved of that shame, so he can be cleansed and have all that terrible shit replaced with nothing but Steve’s unfaltering adoration. Bucky isn’t good, not right now… But Steve can make him feel like he is. Steve can trick him into believing it, because only he has that authority over Bucky’s body, his brain, his _everything_.

Bucky doesn’t have to be _Bucky_ – all he has to worry about being is Steve’s obedient, beautiful little boy. In moments like these, Bucky’s certain that _that_ was his purpose for being placed on this earth. Born, raised, and waiting, even when he didn’t even know it– all for the day when he could finally serve Steve Rogers.

“Yes sir,” he mutters, voice uneven. He swallows hard, hoping it’ll take down the sudden lump in his throat with it. Part of him hopes it won’t.

“You’re selfish, little boy,” Steve continues to chide him. Bucky licks his lips and nods in agreement. Steve shakes his head, giving Bucky’s a stern little yank to remind him he’s still helplessly within Steve’s grasp. “No, you answer me with _words_. Say it.”

“I’m s…” Bucky’s voice cracks, and he shuts his eyes to take a breath, to try again. Two small tears roll down his temples and disappear into his hair. His fists are balled into the back of Steve’s shirt so hard it’s amazing he hasn’t ripped holes right into the fabric. His dick is trapped between his stomach and the fly of Steve’s jeans; the button uncomfortably stabbing at him where he’s still sensitive. It all feels so good in such a filthy way. Bucky clears his throat. “I’m selfish…”

When he opens his eyes, fresh tears fall. Steve notices – _of course he does_ – and gets a trace of a sad frown. Making a sympathetic sound, he releases Bucky’s hair so he can use both hands to wipe them away. In a tone somewhere halfway between dominant and _suddenly much gentler_ , he sighs softly and says, “Oh, Buck… My poor baby, I… You want me to stop? Red?”

“No, no, _no!_ ” Bucky quickly insists with frustration, pushing himself up so he can throw one arm around Steve’s neck and kiss him insistently. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work, _it’s not what he fucking wants Steve to be asking right now,_ he – he needs Steve to be the strong one so Bucky has a safe place to shatter and free himself. He can’t afford for Steve to run away from him now, not when Bucky needs him most.

Annoyed and with a tone much harsher than he intends it to be, Bucky snaps between kisses, “I just – ugh, stop _asking_ me, Steve! I don’t want you to – I want… Fuckin’ _make me_ listen to you, make me do what you say, _stop apologizing_ – just… Hurt me, fuckin’ _hurt me_ , Steve, I want it – stop fuckin’ _stopping_ , for fuck’s sakes, either give me what I want _or I’ll find it somewhere else_.”

Silence.

Steve’s mouth falls open in shock, blue eyes widening and looking like he’d just been slapped. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Bucky knows he fucked up. That was too far, even for him. The fact that it’s an empty threat and they both know it (at least, Bucky hopes, _shit, oh shit_ ) is irrelevant. Maybe that’s a line he could’ve pulled back at the beginning, but not now, not after everything they’ve been through together. Desperate or not, he’s never had the audacity to say anything of the sort to Steve before.

And that’s evidently the line that needed to be crossed. Steve responds with a shocked, _outraged_ noise of confusion that gets trapped in his throat. Before Bucky has the chance to wonder if Steve’s about to put all of this to a stop – maybe even tell him to leave or _worse_ – he’s suddenly biting Bucky’s bottom lip so hard that Bucky yelps, genuine and pained.

He digs his nails so hard into Bucky’s back that the next sound out of Bucky is a broken-up cry – and Bucky’s brain turns right back off. _Fuck… yeah, fuck yeah…_ There’s a pause, with nothing in that moment but the dying sound of Bucky’s cry quieting in the air… and then they’re both moving together in a frenzy.

They straighten, Steve standing and Bucky back to sitting on the edge of the table. His legs go right around Steve’s waist, and they grab at each other hectically while they kiss and bite each other’s lips; beat their tongues together while Bucky’s hands fumble with the front of Steve’s jeans and Steve breaks away only long enough to grab the hem of his shirt and yank it off.

Grabbing the back of Bucky’s hair again, Steve pulls so Bucky’s neck is arched to the side. Bucky pants, eyes closed and mouth hanging again, while Steve dives in and begins driving his teeth into Bucky’s shoulder – biting hard enough to leave sets of teeth marks stamped up towards the collar. They’ll probably bruise and last all night, to be hiding beneath Bucky’s dress shirt for prom.

That’s probably Steve goal.

“You think you can ‘find this elsewhere’? _Huh?_ ” Steve angrily challenges him, hurt laden in his voice. Bucky moans desperately and gets the zipper down. He can only manage to shove Steve’s jeans down low enough to get his hand into the waistline of his boxers and pull out his gorgeous cock. He wraps his fingers around it quickly and begins to stroke, making Steve groan against his throat.

Steve licks the flat of his tongue over the side of the collar. He drives his teeth into the soft flesh of Bucky’s earlobe, enough to get Bucky whining in pain. Bucky pumps him harder, and Steve’s leaking all over his hand, gradually making the slide effortless.

Digging the nails of his other hand into Bucky’s hip, Steve growls, “You think someone else can give it to you better than _I_ can? No one fucking knows your body like I do, Buck – fucking _no one_.” And to drive his point home, he immediately drops his face back down to bite cruelly into Bucky’s shoulder again, at the same time that that hand on his hip lets go so Steve can pinch him as rough as he can.

Bucky shouts, “Fuck!” He has more tears prickling his eyes from the pain, but he’s so hard, _oh he’s so fucking turned on_ , _it feels perfect, so good_. He whimpers the word out again shakily, “Fuck, _f-fuck_ …” before turning his face just in time for Steve to catch his mouth and own it in a kiss so forceful and possessive it gets Bucky’s toes curling.

“Don’t you _ever_ threaten anything like that again, you hear me, Buck?” Steve warns him, then kisses him again. “I’ll turn your ass fucking _purple_ if you ever say shit like that to me again.”

“I’m sorry sir, I’m sorry,” Bucky pants, then lets Steve kiss him again. Steve grunts softly when Bucky starts fucking his fist over his dick a bit quicker. Bucky opens his eyes a sliver to watch the pleasure blooming over him; mouth slightly ajar, eyes closed, a little wrinkle between his brows… Bucky drags the tip of his tongue up Steve’s mouth and then hears himself beg, “Hit me.”

Steve eyes open, eyelids only capable of getting halfway there. “What?” he pants back, sounding thrown off; evidently not the response he was expecting to get. Bucky twists his wrist when he gets to the tip, pressing a hard circle over Steve’s slit with his thumb. Steve’s eyes roll back and immediately close again with a gasp.

“Hit me,” Bucky begs again, “just once, just – please sir, hit me, _hit me_.” Closing his own eyes, he kisses at Steve’s lips until Steve kisses back, palming the back of his head to pull Bucky in closer.

He knows it’s one of Steve’s hard limits. He supposes maybe he shouldn’t really be asking in the first place. But… it’s been a long time since Steve first said that, and Bucky likes to think they’ve proven their trust to each other enough for Steve to trust _himself_ to do that to Bucky and not go too far. To know that _Bucky_ trusts him enough to hurt him just right, just the way he wants.

If Steve safety words out of it, Bucky won’t push. But until that happens, he will. Right now, he _will._

“Buck – I--”

“I want it, please sir, I _need_ it,” Bucky cuts him off. “Hit me, please, want it so bad, Steve--”

Steve shoves his forehead to Bucky’s, panting unevenly and muttering, “ _Shit_ ,” under his breath; a slave in this moment to the way Bucky’s wringing his cock, getting him so hard that he could just slip right inside of Bucky if he wanted to. After swallowing a few times, he says, “I… I need to be sure you… Give me a color, I need to know where your head’s at.”

“Green,” Bucky says before Steve’s even finished.

“What if… _Auh_ , _fuck_ …” Steve grits his teeth and shakes his head to himself. Bucky never slows down his hand. “What if I said red right now?”

“Then I’ll stop.”

It’ll suck, but he will. Wouldn’t even hesitate for a second.

Steve continues to grunt quietly, washing Bucky’s face over with every labored breath he releases. Bucky keeps watching him from beneath half-mast lids, breathing just as hard in kind. “Please,” he repeats. “Steve, I… Please, I trust you…”

Finally opening his eyes, Steve peers up at him, looking frazzled, unsure… but also looking completely spaced out. Keeping his eyes open, he replies by tipping his chin in and kissing Bucky, short and chaste. He surprises Bucky by unexpectedly backing off enough that Bucky has no other choice but to let go of him. When Bucky goes to follow, Steve’s hand snaps up.

“Stop,” Steve orders sharply. “Stay.”

Oh, but if _that_ doesn’t go straight to Bucky’s dick. Obediently, he places his hands behind him so he can lean back and keep himself still. He watches Steve back away, going a little deeper into the living room with every step, keeping their eyes glued to each other. He looks so fucking sexy right now; hair disheveled, wearing nothing but his jeans sitting low on his hips, cock sticking straight out. Flushed as bad as the rest of him. Bucky wants to suck on that inked clavicle. He’s practically salivating for it.

Steve finally stops. Bucky’s not sure why he chose to walk away or why he chose to stop in the middle of the room, but when Steve tells him he can come back over to him now, Bucky forgets why any of that should matter. He eagerly scrambles off the table, faintly aware of the way his limbs feel like jelly; his ass, still so loose now that there’s nothing plugging him up anymore.

He’s only able to take about _two_ steps before Steve’s sternly barking out, “ _Hey!_ No.”

Bucky stops in his tracks, confusion washing over his features. Steve takes a few breaths, no trace of a smirk on his lips – nothing but _want_ , and… like he’s still wrapping his head around this and beingthoughtful about what he’s choosing to do. He slowly sweeps his gaze down to the floor. After another full, deep breath, he straightens his spine, assuming his full height and commanding authority over the entire room – the entire _world_ – with that one simple action. Steve nods towards it.

“Crawl over here and suck my cock, little boy. Show me how sorry you are.”

There’s nothing to hide the evidence of how that simple, degrading command gets Bucky’s cock the rest of the way there, he’s so painfully hard again. Bucky falls into his role, easy as second-nature. It’s all part of their game, and he loves to play. He loves being treated like this, because he knows if he’s good and takes it all, Steve will always lavish him with affection for it. He’ll reward Bucky, tell him how well-behaved he is and how happy he makes him. That’s what Bucky lives for.

“Yes sir,” he mutters. Carefully, he lowers down to one knee, then the other, before leaning forward and resting the remainder of his weight on his hands. In this position, Bucky’s definitely _much_ more aware of the way his hole feels with every twitch, every shift – every little thing that gets him flexing. He’s so fucking wet back there, it’s practically begging to be filled back up again.

Licking his lips, Bucky peeks up, because Steve never said Bucky couldn’t look. Steve doesn’t stop him. Rather, his gaze is already raking over Bucky’s back, his shoulders; every muscle and every joint. Deliberately keeping his movements achingly slow – so every facet of his body can be accentuated for his Steve – Bucky begins to crawl towards him.

In moments like these, Steve always looks at Bucky like he’s memorizing him for later. A couple months ago, Bucky could’ve never fathomed how erotic it would be to pose this way or that for his boyfriend; remaining as still as he could while he watched Steve watch _him_ , every part of him – discovering the design of how Bucky was put together in ways Bucky never even knew existed until Steve came into his life and opened his eyes.

He’s such an incredible artist; so much more talented than Steve even gives himself credit for. It takes Bucky’s breath away just to see him _observe_ like this, like Steve’s mesmerized. See, Steve was born with a gift: he views the world in a way regular people just cannot. Colors, shapes, every last secret that could ever be discovered – his eyes are able to strip past all the layers that everyone else tends to ignore and see what lies beneath. He has the capability of discovering a thing’s true beauty, and then tapping into it so it’s finally coaxed to the surface, capable of being seen by the rest of the world, too. Bucky doesn’t know how he does it, but it forever leaves him amazed.

Bucky never cares how long he has to remain still whenever Steve ‘just _needs_ to draw him’. Whatever the circumstances, Bucky gets just as lost in the way his boyfriend loses _himself_ in his passion. For _art_ , for _beauty_ … for _Bucky_.

The moment Steve starts looking at Bucky like he’s art, Bucky’s overwhelmed. There’ve been times where it’s made him cry. Silent, grateful tears… For Bucky’s comfort, Steve won’t comment on them in the moment, but if he’s in the middle of drawing Bucky, he’ll capture them with his pencil while Bucky’s heart threatens to burst. He makes Bucky feel precious, so invaluable, so… It reminds him – even as he’s there on his hands and knees – that he will never love anyone else like this. The way Steve makes him feel is indescribable. Bucky wants to be everything and more for him; be worthy of Steve’s eyes, be as stunning as they’ve always seen him.

So he keeps moving towards him, _slowly_. One thing at a time; right hand, left knee… Left hand, right knee… Keeps his chin lowered so he can look up at Steve through his lashes. Everything he does is emphasized, so he can revel in the way Steve’s stare roams along his shoulder blades, his spine; when they roll and flex, every inch, Steve’s for the taking. Bucky’s body is not his own, not right now. It belongs to Steve, as it always has. The only person on this earth ever meant to have it.

“God, you’re magnificent,” Steve whispers.

Bucky fights the shy smile that wants to sprout on his face from the praise. Instead, he stops when he finally gets to Steve’s feet, sitting all of his weight on his knees. “Am I?” he asks quietly, dipping his fingers into Steve’s waistline so he can better slide them down Steve’s thighs the rest of the way. Leaning in, he brings his mouth to Steve’s abs so he can kiss over each one and trace them with the tip of his tongue; suck where he can and gingerly nip the skin between his teeth, just to feel Steve jolt.

Steve’s hands come up and bury into his hair again, cradling him lovingly. “Yeah,” Steve exhales above him. “You look at yourself, Buck, but I don’t think you – you don’t see yourself the way _I_ see you... I see you, sweetheart.”

Bucky whimpers under his breath and nuzzles against Steve’s cock, tipping his mouth open so he can let the soft cockhead slide between his lips. He gives it a few shallow sucks; rolls his tongue around it with barely any pressure. Steve’s fingertips slide across the back of his skull, his own head tipping back with a sigh.

“Oh Buck, baby, you got no idea how perfect you are,” Steve moans. One hand trails to Bucky’s cheek so Steve can first brush his fingers across it, before pressing lightly with his thumb. Bucky knows what he wants. Opening his eyes, he tilts his face to the side and looks back up at him, so Steve can see his good little boy with his dick in his mouth… and can see – _feel_ – the tip pressing against the smooth inside of Bucky’s cheek.

Steve’s brows crease and he exhales, keeping their eyes locked while Bucky bobs his head back and forth, gradually taking it a little deeper… a little deeper... Steve eventually tilts his head up towards the ceiling again and places that hand back in Bucky’s hair. Bucky lets his eyes flutter shut so he can straighten and start sucking along him with purpose.

There are very few things in the world that gets Bucky off quite like sucking cock. The way it feels, the way it tastes – all of that on its own is enough to drive Bucky crazy. But the way he knows what Steve likes best… The way he make Steve give into it and let himself go each and every time… That’s the greatest feeling there could ever be. And he isn’t lying for the sake of flattery when he says that Steve’s the best he’s ever tasted. He isn’t lying or over-exaggerating about _anything_ when it comes to Steve’s cock, or the way the man knows how to fuck.

Steve gets him to hold still at one point, with his mouth nice and hung open – _Steve commanded_ – so he can hold himself steady and trace the outline of Bucky’s lips with nothing but the tip. When he hooks his thumb into Bucky’s mouth and orders in a gravelly voice, “Stick your tongue out, sweetheart,” Bucky doesn’t even blink. He just _does_. Steve bites his lip with a helpless groan, watching the way his cockhead looks dragging back and forth along Bucky’s tongue while Bucky does nothing but exhale gentle little tufts of hot air and stare up at him adoringly.

“God, Buck,” Steve murmurs, almost inaudibly; sounding _disbelieving_ , like even after all this time, Bucky will never stop taking his breath away. Bucky feels light everywhere and moans back sweetly in response.

Bucky would be happy letting Steve use him like this for the rest of the day. He’d say _fuck prom_ in a heartbeat if he could just keep feeling Steve’s dick in his mouth like this. But eventually, Steve gently nudges Bucky in, coaxing him to close his lips back up around him. Because Bucky’s a good little cocksucker, he does what he’s told, and he’s thankful for every single second. He shows his appreciation by putting everything he has into it.

With every minute that passes, the more aggressive it becomes. Steve has some of the best stamina Bucky’s ever seen, which he _loves_ , because it means he’s not constantly being made to stop or slow down. Twenty minutes later, his jaw hurts and he’s whimpering blissfully while he sucks Steve off fast and sloppy; hollowing out his cheeks and stuffing his throat full until his nose is bumping rhythmically into Steve’s stomach.

He pulls back so he can lick all over him, and lap at his balls; kiss along the length and then twirl his tongue around the tip while he pants, loud and greedy. It’s never for more than a few seconds at a time, though. Bucky can’t possibly keep that beautiful dick out of his mouth for very long. Then he’s gagging himself all over again, until he’s red and sputtering out these tiny little coughs. He’s got spit leaking from the corners of his mouth _._

All this time, to his amazement, Steve hasn’t taken over yet. Not once.

So he reaches back to where Steve’s palming his head – feeling out all of Bucky’s motions – and covers one of Steve’s hands with his own. He lets Steve’s dick fall from his lips so he can rasp, “Pull my hair, fuckin’ pull my hair, Stevie.” Taking his boyfriend straight into his mouth again, Bucky goes back to blowing him. He whines euphorically when Steve listens to him and pulls on Bucky’s hair with _both_ hands.

Bucky fucks his mouth off of him – _back_ and _forth_ , over and over – even faster. “ _Mhm, mm, mhm_ ,” he whimpers, physically feeling the way Steve starts giving himself back over to his role; begins to lose himself in it from above him. He uses his big hands to frame Bucky tight, assisting in pushing and pulling Bucky’s face along his dick.

It’s loud, and by no means graceful. Bucky gags even more around him but moans twice as loud whenever he pulls away. Between his own legs, his neglected cock hangs thick and heavy. He’d think to give it some relief, if he wasn’t so concerned with getting Steve off. Steve’s dick is the only one in the room that exists right now, _tastes so fucking nice_ , Bucky wants Steve’s come filling him all the way up right now, _god he wants it so bad_.

Gasping loudly, Bucky only has time to just plead the words, “Hit me,” again before Steve’s dick is forced all the way back into his mouth, shutting him up. Steve uses his strength against him and takes over moving Bucky’s head, panting and moaning impassioned curses as he forces his cockhead to nudge the back of Bucky’s throat relentlessly. Bucky takes it for as long as he can – just appreciatively lets Steve stay as deep in there as possible, thrusting shallowly while Bucky fights the little tremors and heaves threatening to make him gag _too_ much.

When he squeezes his eyes shut tighter with a small choke, he feels tears spill down his cheeks and knows he needs a second’s reprieve. So he uses his palm to lightly tap on Steve’s hip. Immediately, Steve pulls out, and Bucky gasps loud and shrill, like this is his first time tasting air. But he’s still got blinders on; all Bucky sees right now, still nothing but Steve.

His lungs aren’t even replenished yet and he’s already needing Steve back in his mouth so fucking bad. So between shudders and noisy breaths, Bucky’s already back to sucking shallowly, having to stop every few heartbeats because he _still_ can’t breathe; he’s not giving himself the chance. He can’t get enough, Steve was right – he’s greedy, _he’s so fucking selfish_ , but Steve tastes too good and Bucky’s so in love with him. Too in love to ever get enough.

“Baby, hit me,” Bucky croaks again; holds Steve straight out in his hand so he can run his tongue flat over Steve’s tip.

Jacking him with that hand, he stares back up at him from on his knees – sweat and spit making him look _demolished_ , he hopes – and can’t even stand the sight he’s met with. Steve’s just too fucking hot, he’s not even human, and Bucky doesn’t know how to accept that. His heart’s too full and his cock is too hard, and he’s too in love with this man. Steve will be the death of him, one way or another.

Bucky will make sure of it.

Feeling unhinged, the filter between Bucky’s brain and his mouth obliterates and he encourages again, “Hit me, just once, oh please I’ll take it so well, you’ll see – oh please, _Stevie_ , hurt me, I wanna feel it.” As he speaks, his right hand keeps moving along Steve’s erection, while the other wraps around Steve’s wrist so he can pull Steve’s hand down to his cheek. Closing his eyes, he nestles against it affectionately, kissing the heel before meeting Steve’s eyes again.

Steve, in contrast, is wide-eyed. Bucky understands that he’s never quite been like this before, but he tries to remind himself – again – that Steve hasn’t used the safe word yet. And when their eyes meet again, Bucky sees it. He knows that look by now. Steve’s back to regarding him so fucking reverently. His thumb strokes gently across Bucky’s cheekbone… And Bucky gives a tiny, reassuring nod.

Time around them stills, the air crackling between them. Bucky isn’t sure how long it lasts. And then it ends, at the exact moment when Steve pulls his hand away, raises it. It all happens really fast. But their eyes never leave each other, not as Steve suddenly swings his hand down and slaps Bucky right across the face. Then and only then does Bucky’s head snap to the side with a gasp.

His cock jumps, spitting out a clear line of precome onto the carpet. Something inside of Bucky snaps. He heaves, panting loudly as a delirious smile turns up the corners of his mouth; stinging and prickling on his cheek, _and one of the single hottest things he’s ever felt in his life._ Moving fast, he grabs Steve’s muscular hips back in his hands and takes him straight back to the root, moaning like the good little slut he is while he sucks him off like his life is depending on it.

What makes it even more of a fucking turn on is that _Steve_ seemed to like that, too. His hands are right back to being in Bucky’s hair, and he hisses out, “Oh fuck, fuck, sweetheart, oh my god, _yeah_ , just like that baby, _holy fuck,_ ah yeah--”

Bucky’s eyes roll back without control when Steve forces him still without warning and _really_ takes over from there, pumping his hips and using Bucky like all he is is a hole to fuck.

Now Bucky can’t help it. He wraps his hand around himself and begins to tug; fast and tight jerks, short little thrusts into his fist. Steve fucks his face and Bucky’s back to getting closer and closer. He can tell from the noises Steve’s beginning to make that he’s almost there too. And then he’s just as abruptly thrown off guard when Steve suddenly pulls all the way out, lets go of his face--

_And hits him again._

Bucky comes. He cries out in surprise; pure, mind-numbing bliss at the unexpected pain making him blow his load all over the floor between Steve’s feet. Bucky’s head is spinning, because he hadn’t known he was _that_ close again so soon, and he feels this one all over the place. Amplified by the fact that he’s still the slightest bit sensitive, and he’s got rug burn on his knees, and the sting of Steve’s hand – _twice_ – burning the side of his face.

Bucky’s only _just_ crying out, the tip of his dick only _just_ beginning to ribbon out his pleasure into the carpet and soaking his fist, when Steve turns his face towards him again and shoves his cock right _back_ into Bucky’s gaping mouth. Bucky shakes and sobs out nearly deafening, pleasured whines while Steve fucks into him with abandon. Bucky’s vision is all bleary when he opens his eyes mid-way through so he can watch. Steve’s face is pinched up, and he looks just as gone as Bucky feels.

He’s so fucking powerful, so dominant – _fuck, fuck yes, god, he’s so fucking regal and strong and Bucky’s so fucking in love with him_ —

Steve throws his head back and moans, “Fuck, fuck, Bucky, _a-auh!_ ” before coming hot and sweet into the back of Bucky’s throat. Still trembling, still dirtying up the carpet himself, Bucky weakly mewls – feeling the vibrations against his collar – as he gulps it all down. He’s got a piece of Steve inside him now, a piece no one else is ever allowed to have so long as Bucky can help it.

Bucky’s body may belong to Steve, but _he’s_ the only one with the right to Steve’s come. No one else is worthy of even a single drop.

He continues to tenderly suckle along him for as long as Steve will let him, even when he softens. Bucky can’t help but make a noise of disappointment when Steve eventually does murmur, “Mm, stop, that’s enough, baby.” He laughs from above him, still in the middle of catching his breath, and then adds, “God that was good. I don’t think I’ll ever get over how fucking great you are at that, Buck.”

Evidently, Steve’s so blissed out that he’s completely forgotten all about Bucky’s absolutely _stupid_ comment earlier. He seems to be right back to his usual self. Bucky hopes he won’t remember.

Bucky rests back on his calves and feet, wiping his face with the back of his clean hand. Giving Steve a satiated smile - happiest as always when he’s proven to be deserving of Steve’s compliments - he clears his throat and then takes a deep breath.

“Speak for yourself,” he replies. He goes to say more when he suddenly frowns, glancing back down at the carpet to see the thorough _stain_ he’s just gone and made. “Ah shit,” he mutters, sighing with disappointment in himself. Though his legs are now half asleep, he stands up anyways to head towards the kitchen.

“Huh?” he hears Steve reply obliviously.

“Sorry Stevie, just lemme grab a cloth--” Bucky says with his back to him, already having turned to walk away. As he passes the dining room table, he sees the anal plug Steve had removed from him earlier, sitting on the little table across from it. Bucky grabs it, since he’s up. He can clean it in the sink after he tends to the carpet.

Steve doesn’t say anything. However, his footsteps immediately come thudding up behind Bucky, closer and closer. Before he can so much as look over his shoulder, Steve’s snaking his arm around Bucky’s middle and picking him right up off the ground. Startled, Bucky drops the plug to the floor with a loud peal of laughter.

Because of their almost identical heights, Steve can’t possibly carry Bucky like that, so Bucky’s finding his footing within seconds. But Steve doesn’t unwrap him. He’s got a smirk on his face and is heading them right out of there, towards the stairs. Bucky has to clumsily walk sideways, positioned awkwardly and side-stepping the entire way to keep up.

“Dude, just give me _two_ seconds to clean the carpet,” Bucky exclaims, casting a quick look over Steve’s shoulder. He’s smiling, but he _is_ admittedly worried that it’ll be a lot more of a bitch to remove if they hold off on it too long.

“Nope.”

“It’s gonna stain,” Bucky tries to argue.

“I’ll deal with it after you leave,” Steve tells him, making it clear that there will be no more conversation on the matter. He only lets him go when they get to the bottom of the stairs. Bucky’s hips jerk forward with a mixture of a surprised yelp and a chuckle when Steve gets a small smile and then playfully – but by no means _gently_ – smacks Bucky’s ass. “Upstairs, go on. I’m not done with you yet.”

Bucky hesitates. “Okay  _but_ \--”

“Are you really going to make me repeat myself?” Steve interrupts, arching a brow. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

A blush rises to Bucky’s cheeks, his eyes dropping to the stairs. The carpet is undoubtedly going to stain, and he still has a mess of come drying uncomfortably on his right hand. But with a tiny smile of his own, he mutters, “Yes sir,” and stops arguing. They head upstairs, Steve trailing just behind him.

Bucky asks for permission to make a pit stop in the bathroom to rinse off his hand. Steve lets him, waiting patiently in the doorway and watching, arms crossed. Neither of them say anything as Bucky cleans himself and then dries his hands, and when he comes walking back up to Steve, all the blond does is smile at him and turn out of the way so Bucky can leave.

It strikes Bucky then that there’s something almost _tired_ about the way Steve’s looking at him all of a sudden. Almost… reluctant, like there’s more he wants to say – and not the sort of thing Bucky would want to _hear_. Bucky tries to tell himself that it’s all in his head; just his paranoia at work again, operating as his own worst enemy.

So he likewise says nothing and continues walking. Leading the way, he goes directly to Steve’s bedroom, knowing that’s exactly where he wants Bucky right now. Steve quietly closes the door behind them, then instructing, “Lie down for me.”

Climbing onto the bed, Bucky does. Because he’s unsure whether Steve wants him on his stomach or his back, he chooses the latter. That tends to be the default if he hasn’t been told otherwise. He doesn’t know what to anticipate at this point, so he refrains from prodding with any questions and instead stays patient and _quiet_ , like he knows he should.

Steve likes to draw things out sometimes so Bucky will be squirming by the time he finally gets it – and one certainty Bucky’s learned over the last few months is that _asking_ about it first usually only makes the wait even longer. Bucky can’t afford to wait a moment longer than he already needs to. He wants it all _now._

Steve isn’t looking at him. With a calm precision, he stares off – as if in thought – while he sheds his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off, leaving them in a heap on the floor. Next he heads over his closet, opening the door and then disappearing from sight as he goes in. Bucky can hear some rattling, and then that familiar sound of Steve grabbing their bag of toys and rummaging through it.

Excitement surges through him, unable to keep himself from wondering what Steve will decide he wants to use this time. Bucky has to physically bite his lip to stop himself from talking. Silently, Steve comes back out, staring at the items he’s selected. Bucky immediately looks to what’s in his hands, too, before _moaning_ quietly. The restraints, the vibrator, the plug _Steve_ picked out just for him, and what looks to be a blindfold – oh yeah, Bucky is more than alright with all of those things.

He never knew Steve had picked up a blindfold, but that’s perfectly fine by him. Bucky can only _imagine_ how much better everything with Steve would feel on his body when robbed of that one major sense; just picturing it makes his skin pebble with goosebumps. He wiggles a bit on the bed, breathing quickening because _he just can’t_ _help it_. Habitually, he lifts his arms above his head so he can place his wrists at the two corners of the bedframe. They’ve played with bondage enough by now that Bucky knows the drill.

But to his surprise, that strange, almost _sad_ smile returns and Steve shakes his head. “Not yet,” he quietly says, now beside the bed. After placing everything onto his bedside table and retrieving his bottle of lube to add to the pile, Steve straightens and does nothing but look down at the items for a bit. Arousal slowly starting to become replaced with trepidation, a frown grows on Bucky’s face. Awkwardly, he lowers his hands back down and then rests them on his stomach for lack of knowing what else to do.

Eventually, the prolonged silence between them becomes too much. “Steve?” Bucky pushes himself up into a sitting position. Hesitantly reaching out, he touches Steve’s wrist before wrapping his fingers around it.

Steve finally glances over to him, wearing that smile again. It only continues to make Bucky more unsettled. But then Steve exhales through his nose and sits down on the edge of the mattress. Turning to better face him, Steve cups the side of Bucky’s face and leans in, kissing his forehead. Next are Bucky’s lips, but Steve seems to be holding something back. It’s brisk, lacking any sort of conviction. Bucky’s still hanging onto his wrist, suddenly afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry for hitting you,” Steve surprises him by saying. Sighing, he drops his chin, lightly bumping his forehead to Bucky’s. “I don’t know what happened to me, I just… I got carried away.”

Wait, _that’s_ what this is all about…? Truth be told, the first thing Bucky _wants_ to feel in the face of that remark is frustration; seeing the way Steve is _still_ struggling to accept that Bucky wants these things just as badly as he does and having to wonder (yet again), ‘Is Steve _ever_ going to trust me when I say I’m okay?’ Like somehow, Steve thinks he’s a bad person for getting off on the things that make them tick, and forgetting in that moment that Bucky’s just as responsible for what they do as he is.

But he also knows it’d be wrong of him to focus on that gut reaction right now – especially because Steve really does look conflicted with himself, and part of that might actually be _Bucky’s_ fault.

And really, above all else, Bucky’s just glad that _that’s_ what’s wrong, and not anything else.

Relieved, Bucky exhales a short laugh – one snipped note first, and then a real chuckle as he mirrors Steve and lifts a hand to cradle the side of his boyfriend’s neck. “Is that why you’re…? I – you think you did something wrong, Steve? No, _no_ it’s okay. I asked for it. If anythin’, _I’m_ sorry if maybe you felt I pressured you into it. I got…” He hesitates, looking away as he frowns again at the reminder of how he’d felt when he first got there. “…Carried away too, clearly… Are you mad?”

Steve pulls away so he can better look at him. He shakes his head. “No. I’m not, Buck. Just didn’t fully sink in until we were coming up here, I guess. I told myself I’d never hit you. I just don’t know how to process the fact that I actually _did_. I was raised to believe that hitting always automatically equaled  _abuse_ , so... Guess it's hard to get myself out of that mindset..."

“But I liked it,” Bucky softly reassures him. The thought of _Steve Rogers_ ever having a mean bone in his body, let alone being capable of actually abusing someone, is the most unfathomable thing Bucky's ever heard. “Like, _really_ liked it. You saw, it was enough to make me come. That’s gotta say something.”

“Mhm...” Steve doesn’t sound convinced.

Bucky regards him for a few moments, wishing he knew what to say to make this better. “Did _you_ like it?” he carefully asks.

He can tell by the way Steve’s cheek sucks in – that he’s chewing it – at the mere question that _yeah_ , he did. Steve only does that when he feels guilty. Bucky lifts his hand higher so he can gingerly brush the pad of his thumb across Steve’s bottom lip 

“You didn’t hurt me,” he promises. “I would’ve told you if you did. It felt incredible. Really.” But that doesn’t seem like enough. Steve still looks troubled, so Bucky tries to rectify his own error by adding, “Look… I’m sorry I pushed for it. If you didn’t want to do it, you should’ve told me. I _would’ve_ stopped, Steve – I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I _don’t_ \--”

“I’m not upset with you, Bucky,” Steve says.

Bucky takes a breath; tries to give him a smile. Steve doesn’t smile back, but Bucky nods anyways and tells him, “Then can we… I dunno, can we both agree that we tried it, and we – we _liked_ it… but maybe we just won’t do it again, that’s all. Once was enough, if it made you feel too uncomfortable. And… _if_ you ever wanted to try it again, it’ll be because _you_ wanted to. I won’t ask for it again, I promise.”

Steve looks to be taking Bucky’s words in and mulling them over, still biting on the inside of his cheek. Then he self-consciously asks, “So you really liked it…?”

“Yeah, Stevie. I loved it..”

“And I _didn’t_ hurt you…?”

Bucky kisses him, first firmly but then much gentler once he feels Steve’s lips pressing back. “No. You’d never hurt me,” he answers.

“I wouldn’t, Buck…”

“I know you wouldn’t.” He pecks his lips a few more times, thinking the subject is over; that they’ve addressed the worst of it. But when he tries to change the subject and mumbles against his mouth, “Steve… I wanna keep playing…” he places his hand on Steve’s nape to try tugging him down with him when Bucky goes to lower onto his back again – and Steve won’t budge.

Eyes filling with question marks, Bucky stills again and gives him a confused look, brows creasing in the center. There’s that apologetic, bittersweet smile on Steve’s face again, and dread hits Bucky hard. He was wrong; there _is_ still more. His heartbeat is in his ears while he waits for an explanation.

Steve averts his eyes, swallowing. He looks perturbed; keeps opening his mouth but then sighing and closing it back up. The silence is driving Bucky crazy and he _wants_ to snap, ‘What – what is it? What did I do?’ But he’s afraid of the answer he’ll get. It makes his throat tight, rendering Bucky incapable of saying anything at all.

“What you said downstairs…” Steve suddenly answers, and now he’s beginning to grimace, “…about finding someone else…”

Bucky pales.

“No, _no god_ , Steve, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he quickly interjects, tightening his hold on the back of Steve’s neck and shaking his head. He doesn’t like the way Steve’s looking back at him now. It makes Bucky feel sick. Steve’s not _avoiding_ his gaze, which should be comforting but… that doesn’t automatically equal a good thing, either.

“I know you didn’t,” Steve says. Looking hurt – _and that makes Bucky feel so awful, he’s such an idiot, god, how could he have said something so fucking careless_ – he then adds, “But for the record? …Red. _Red._ You can’t do that to me again, Buck, it – that’s not a game to me. _You’re_ not a game to me.”

“I know, Steve, I’m so sorry,” Bucky croaks. The hand touching Steve is shaking. Steve surprises him by suddenly covering it with his own so he can slide it up to his cheek, turn his face towards it, and press his lips against Bucky’s palm.

Steve nods to himself, looking back to him again. “It’s just… you remember that time you told me that… you needed punishment with _praise_?” he explains. Eyes growing wet, Bucky nods. “You said, ‘Don’t ever treat me like I mean nothing to you’… That’s how hearing you say that made me feel. For a second, I - I _questioned_ … It’s just, it made me feel like nothing to you, Buck. Even if I knew it wasn’t true.”

Bucky shakes his head more vehemently. “Please Steve, I’m so sorry. You know I love you – I love you more than anything else in the world; I’d never wanna hurt you, _ever_ , I… I wasn’t even thinkin’ properly when I said that; was just my stupid fuckin’ mouth running like usual, I – Please forgive me Steve, _please_ , I don’t know why I even said that at all--”

Steve sighs quietly. Eyes softening, he strokes his thumb over the hand still pressed to his cheek and replies, “I do.”

Bucky stops; blinks a few times, brows furrowing again. “You do…?”

He nods. “Yeah. It’s for the same reason you won’t tell me what’s really going on with you right now.” There’s nothing accusatory in his tone, but the weight of the words still slams onto Bucky’s shoulders, registering on his face as nothing but pure, naked terror. _Now_ Steve leans in, taking Bucky’s face in both hands and murmuring, “You think I don’t know when my little boy is upset about something? Hmm? Bucky… I _know_ there’s something going on. I just don’t understand why you feel you can’t tell me what it is…”

“I… I told you… It’s just – _prom_ and ev--”

Steve hums, studying his face. “No… No, that’s not it. There’s something else.” Stroking his thumbs back and forth along Bucky’s cheekbones, Steve makes a sympathetic sound and then asks, “Oh, baby, what is it? What’s got you so scared right now? Did I do something?”

When Bucky shakes his head, whimpers out, “ _No_ ,” Steve patiently presses, “Then please… let me in. Let me help you – I can help you, Buck. I hate knowing something’s hurting you this badly.”

Fuck, Bucky wishes he could; he _wants_ to so bad right now. None of this is fair to Steve and he knows it. But he’s not ready – he’s not ready to take that risk, not right now. Not today. Not ever, if he can help it. Steve’s right about him being scared. He _is_ , he’s… Nothing has ever scared him more.

He’d tried to hide it, but Steve had said it himself: he _sees_ Bucky. He’s always been able to. Like a windowpane, Bucky’s transparent when it comes to him, capable of hiding nothing. It’s just, Steve’s asking too much of him right now, _they’re all asking too much of him_ … and Bucky’s starting to cry again.

“I can’t,” he confesses, finally crumpling. Beginning to sob, Bucky’s face twists up as the words spill out of him like paint: “I’m sorry, I _can’t_ , I – please, Steve, please stop asking. I’m _sorry_ , I’m sorry about what I said to you, I shouldn’t h-have said that, but I c – I _can’t_. It’ll ruin everything, it’ll just ruin _everything_ and I can’t lose you, okay? I’m so scared to lose you, S-Steve please, I d-don’t wanna talk about this _please_ , not right now, I _can’t_ \--”

As he speaks, Steve’s face falls, becoming grief-stricken. Blinking fast, he slides one hand to the back of Bucky’s head and pulls him into a protective hug. Pressing his cheek to the side of Bucky’s head, he quickly whispers into brown hair, “Hey, _shh_ , _shh_ baby, it’s okay – shh, it’s okay, I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, I’m sorry, oh baby don’t cry… Don’t cry, it’s okay... Shh, Buck, you’re okay, you’re safe. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Just breathe… That’s it, just breathe for me, shh…

“I love you, okay? I love you with everything I have, and – I’ll do anything you need me to. If that means you need time until you can talk then… then that’s all that means. Whatever it is, we can work through it. Everything will be okay, _shh_ … I’m not going anywhere… I’ll never go anywhere on you, Buck…”

Bucky grits his teeth, his face smothered against Steve’s neck, tears smearing into his skin. This, _this_ is exactly what he needs to hear right now. Steve may not know the truth, and Bucky’s sure if he did that he might not be singing the same tune, but… Jesus Christ, Bucky _needs this right now_ ( _so fucking selfish, he deserves the truth, you stupid fucking kid--_ ).

He nods; he just needs this discussion to end, he needs Steve’s hands back, he needs… God, but he’d actually been able to forget for a short while. It’d felt so incredible – the first time in so long that the universe had taken pity on him and let him just _stop thinking_ …

Steve strokes his back and holds him tight until Bucky’s able to calm down. Eventually, when the tears have finally subsided and Bucky’s able to even out his breathing, they let a few more minutes pass with Bucky held in Steve’s arms; Steve still rubbing soothing lines up and down his back as Bucky stares off, thinking. Wracked with guilt. He breaks the quiet by saying, voice slightly hoarse, “I’m sorry, Steve…”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize about, Bucky.” Steve unwraps him from his arms so Bucky can straighten back up. “I may not know what exactly’s going on, but… I get it. Whatever it is, you need time. That’s fine. I won’t pressure you. Just…”

Steve first looks down at his lap, and then hesitantly glances back up to him. Bucky sees the vulnerability there that Steve’s trying to fight from showing through; how his eyes are pleading the extent of what he won’t drop onto Bucky’s shoulders by saying aloud right now.

Bucky _hears_ it in the overtly cautious but also fragile way Steve gathers the courage to ask: “Can we please maybe talk about it when you _are_ , though _?_ Because… whatever it is – I don’t ever want you thinking there’s a thing in the world you can’t tell me. I’m in your corner, no matter what’s happening with you right now. I… We’re a couple, Buck. You’re my _boyfriend_ , you’re… I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”

This is the first time Steve’s actually calling Bucky his boyfriend… Amazingly, in all the time they’ve been together, it’s just never come up. Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever called Steve that either, out loud. It’s a beautiful thing, like music to his ears. They’re so often robbed of any chances to feel like their relationship is real – little things like this remind Bucky that they _are._ They are, and today - right now  _-_  no one can steal that away from them. If even for only a little while longer, Bucky still has him. It makes him smile, bittersweet and full; his bottom lip still quivering.

Taking a deep breath, he nods. “Okay…” he relents, barely above a whisper. “Okay, I can do that, Stevie. Thank you for understanding, I… Of course I know that, of course I do. I love you so much, Steve, you don’t even know. Don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, but – fuck, I just love you so much, I’m so sorry.”

He’s not completely sure whether he’s just telling Steve what _he_ wants to hear now, or whether he’s letting himself give into naivety; this perfect fantasy that _everything will in fact be okay_ ,because holding onto the idea of ‘happily-ever-after’ is the only option that doesn’t kill him inside.

Maybe it’s a bit of both… Or maybe this is just Bucky’s greed talking again, driven by his own motives. Bucky doesn’t know.

But it seems to placate Steve, whose smile is actually _genuine_ now as he nods his understanding, and that’s all that matters to Bucky. Closing the space between them, Bucky covers Steve’s mouth with a kiss. He needs Steve to know how much Bucky loves him, so that no matter _what_ the eventual consequences are, Steve never forgets that right here, right now, this is real. _They_ have always been real, and fate can never change that, even if it tries to destroy everything else when the time really does come.

Steve kisses him back, slowly tangling his fingers into Bucky’s hair where they belong. Bucky moans quietly in his throat, parting his lips to touch his tongue to Steve’s and drink his taste back in. The longer their kisses deepen, the thicker the air around them grows, until that familiar _desire_ between them returns and translates into every touch.

Bucky really does hope the conversation is over now. Judging by the way Steve’s breath catches when Bucky gives his bottom lip a mousy nibble, it seems like a pretty educated guess.

“Steve,” Bucky breathes, in-between Steve tilting his face to the other side between kisses and then capturing Bucky’s mouth again. “I wanna… Can we…?”

Steve gently sucks Bucky’s bottom lip into his mouth, except he doesn’t bite it like he usually does. Just sucks, slow and soft, while he keeps Bucky’s head framed in his grasp so he can’t go anywhere on him again. It starts winding Bucky up with anticipation, but it’s also still able to get Bucky sighing against him, momentarily losing his train of thought.

He’s waiting for that sharp jolt of pain _any second now_ – for Steve to lull him into a false sense of security so when he _does_ drive his teeth into the sensitive flesh, it’ll hurt that much more; feel that much better.

But it never comes. When Steve’s finished with Bucky’s lip, he begins ghosting his mouth across Bucky’s jawline, towards his ear. “Can we what?” he whispers into it, and then starts kissing Bucky’s neck with barely any pressure.  

It’s progressively harder to think with Steve touching Bucky like this again. He’s only got one hand touching Bucky’s face now, the other splayed flat on the mattress next to Bucky’s hip so Steve can lean into him; get better access to the curve of his throat. All of the endorphins his brain had flushed into his system downstairs start returning with a vengeance, making Bucky’s body thrum. It reminds him of the soft vibrations he’d been lavished with that time he got to ride Steve’s Harley.

“Want… Want you to fuck me…” Bucky says. Steve’s tongue glides over his collar and then starts planting small, delicate little kisses up to the thin skin beneath his ear lobe. When he lightly sucks on it – a mark they know, thanks to practice, will fade in minutes – Bucky’s jaw slackens wider with a heavy exhale. He leans his face into Steve’s left hand, the one still cradling him in place, and licks his lips. “Hard, please – I wanna… _Mm_ …”

“You want me to fuck you rough, baby?” Steve’s voice tickles the shell of his ear again.

Bucky nods, vocalizing his agreement with embarrassing ardor; just these enthusiastic whimpers, _mhm, mhm, mhm…_

“You want it like I gave it to you downstairs? Like you’re nothing but my little whore?”

Moaning brokenly, Bucky nods even faster. _Yes_ , that’s exactly what he needs – to be used and abused in all the ways he craves, the ones that leave him drooling and wrecked. Steve’s plaything, capable of taking it all like such a good slut and only ever asking for more. He wants Steve’s name to be the only one he knows. Everything else, even his own, he wants wiped from his memory. So he keeps pleading for it, _preparing_ for it, _expecting_ exactly that from his generous Steve.

Steve kisses firmly at Bucky’s swollen, bright red lips and finally orders, “On your back. Wrists where I want them.”

Bucky almost sobs in thanks. Scrambling without finesse, he drops down so fast that he almost cracks the top of his skull off the headboard, only narrowly missing it by a couple of inches. Wiggling until he’s in the center of the bed, he throws his arms back above his head and spreads them apart in a v. Steve moves with him, throwing a leg over Bucky’s thighs once he’s sprawled on his back so he can hold himself up by the palms of his hands and kiss a hot, open-mouthed trail from Bucky’s jawline down to his chest.

Steve moves efficiently, but with a kind of grace that makes Bucky unable to watch his every movement without complete and total devotion etched across his face. He stamps his lips from one peck to the next, before straightening up to start grabbing the necessities off the table. Steve binds Bucky’s wrists first, tight enough that the circulation isn’t cut off but also securing Bucky so he’s given virtually no slack.

Bucky tests the resistance, just to be sure. There’s something about being placed at Steve’s mercy like this, barely capable of moving them and making the idea of escape _impossible_ that always makes him so fucking hard. It’s because the moment he’s restrained like this, he knows what’s coming.

Pain, in its most intoxicating form. Steve savagely claiming Bucky, ruthless and animalistic and _merciful._ God, Bucky would kill for him; move every mountain and give him every last thing this world had to offer if Steve so much as asked for it. Nothing but Steve’s loyal disciple who will forever follow his word like law. Simply having the honor to be in his presence makes Bucky completely overcome with a veneration that he never thought he could ever know. When he gets like this, Bucky thinks there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Steve Rogers.

“Lift your head.”

Bucky does, his body on autopilot. Steve takes a moment to check in with him and make sure Bucky’s still okay to experiment with the blindfold. Bucky assures him that he is. Then Steve whispers for him to close his eyes. When he does, he feels the soft press of Steve’s lips peck against his right eye first, followed by his left.

Bucky smiles at the same time that that mouth is replaced by the sleek touch of silk, covering from the middle of his nose to above his brow and canceling out whatever light Bucky could still see from the other side of his lids. Bucky breaths steadily through his mouth, keeping his chin hovering above his chest so Steve can wrap the fabric around his head and tie it off at the back.

Steve checks in with him again after he’s given Bucky permission to lower back down against the pillow. He curls his back, coming in close so he can resume kissing Bucky again, making Bucky moan happily. Everything already feels that much _more_ , just by robbing him of that one little sense. He can’t see Steve anymore, so the other things about him – the way he _feels_ , the way he _tastes_ , all those barely catchable sounds – are brought to the forefront.

“Comfy?” he’s asked.

“Yes sir,” he breathes back.

“You want it _hard_ , Buck?” Steve purrs.

“Mm, yeah…”

Steve speaks directly into Bucky’s ear again. They’re both half covered by the blindfold, but Bucky can still hear him clear as day. “You want me to tear you open so you can feel my cock for days?” he teases. Bucky shivers beneath him, mouth falling open with a silent _pop_.

He instinctually turns his face to the side, making the tendon in his neck flex and strain a little uncomfortably against the grip of his collar. Offering the stretch of skin and leather back out to Steve, so he can latch his mouth to it if he so wants. “Oh please, _please_ yeah, want you to hurt me, sir…”

“You want me to hurt you?”

Bucky whines. He loves getting fucked around like this; the interrogation of all the questions Steve knows the answers to anyway. Just wants to hear Bucky say them and confirm it for himself.

“I wan’ you to hurt me,” Bucky hears himself plead.

Right at the back of his jaw, Bucky feels a kiss. There’s an unusually lengthy pause where above him, Steve isn’t moving. Soft waves of air cascade across Bucky’s neck, his jawline, but… other than that, he does nothing.

Until he whispers next to Bucky’s ear: “Well that’s not what _I_ want.”

Beneath the blindfold, Bucky’s brows furrow. He – he doesn’t understand. Steve doesn’t _want_ to hurt him right now? But – but _that’s_ what always happens when they play like this. That’s what it’s _means_. Steve isn’t making any sense, and Bucky goes still against the mattress while he attempts to wrap his brain around the possible alternatives.

“You…? Huh?”

“I don’t want to hurt you right now,” Steve repeats himself calmly. Like that’s supposed to clarify everything somehow.

Bucky’s frowning. Suddenly it’s a lot more difficult having this conversation when he can’t see the expression on Steve’s face. “Steve, I don’t… what? Why not?”

There’s another tender row of kisses, this time to Bucky’s shoulder. “Because I don’t want to. I want something different from you right now.”

Something _different_ \--

It still makes no sense. Bucky’s beginning to grow anxious again, because – because this isn’t what was supposed to happen. This isn’t how this goes.

“But I want you to hurt me,” he argues, sounding pathetically small.

“No,” Steve counters wistfully, “you don’t, Buck. You’re just telling yourself you do.”

The mattress dips next to Bucky’s ribcage while Steve pushes himself back up. He scoots down a little lower again so he can graze his tongue to Bucky’s iliac furrow and trace it upward. Bucky gasps, the sensation hitting him from out of nowhere and making it tickle more than usual. But he’s so confused; still isn’t catching up with what’s going on around him. _To_ him.

As Steve kisses up to his navel, Bucky shakes his head some more and croaks out as a weak rebuttal, “I know what I want.”

“I know what you _need_ ,” and then the tip of Steve’s tongue is dipping into his belly button, only to veer off to his ribs so he can begin mouthing across those next.

“And I need you to hurt me,” Bucky keeps insisting.

“What you need is for me to take care of you right now,” Steve’s voice says, uttered right against Bucky’s skin. It’s followed by the soft, loving sound of another kiss.

Bucky’s legs are free and honestly, for a second there he considers kicking. He wants to flee from this, but he can’t, but he _can_ put up a fight. He can disobey, make Steve _mad at him_ , and that _has_ to give Bucky what he wants, right?

But he doesn’t move. He wants to, but he can’t. So thrown off by this sudden shift, Bucky’s as good as paralyzed. And so exposed like this, with nothing but his shame, Bucky begins to whimper like he’s wounded. Keeps shaking his head, his cheeks flushing scarlet as tears well up behind his closed eyelids again and his breathing quickens.

When he opens his mouth again, his saliva is thick like syrup and tastes sour. “P-Please stop,” he starts to cry. Steve falters, but then responds only be slowly kissing over to the ribs on the other side and treating them with the same affection he gave the others.

“Please… Steve… Please… Please stop…” Bucky keeps whimpering. He can’t open his eyes, but the tears fall from the corners anyways. Lying against his lower belly, his cock is twitching. Sometimes, when Steve moves a certain way, his abs bump into it, and _it feels so good…_

In a tiny, frightened voice, Bucky keeps crying and whispering for Steve to take pity on him and stop. Steve slowly works Bucky’s upper body over with kisses, and Bucky realizes that Steve _hasn’t_ stopped yet because for all of Bucky’s genuine begging, for as anguished as he sounds, he still hasn’t said the word. Realizing this… Bucky cries harder, his heart racing, but he never says _red_ , even though he also doesn’t stop begging for Steve to put an end to this.

By the time Steve’s face is buried into the other side of Bucky’s neck, dragging his tongue against him and palming the top of Bucky’s head while he kisses all over it, Bucky’s moaning wetly in between sobs. His legs are wrapped tight around Steve’s waist. Steve slowly undulates his hips, dragging the length of his cock between Bucky’s thighs, up his own, _so good_ … Bucky’s arms are taut and he’s trying to strain against the leather cuffs, but of course that changes nothing.

“Why won’t you hurt me?” he cries; grits his teeth and noisily heaves a few times as another sob gets broken up in his chest. The silk over his eyes is nearly soaked through. Everything hurts, but it all feels so, so fucking amazing – and that only makes it hurt more.

“I love you, Buck,” Steve breathlessly tells him, barely above a whisper.

“Please… Please, I need this, I --” He keeps crying, fresh tears rolling in droplets down his temples and into his hair. “I _deserve_ this--”

Steve stops. Bucky freezes, surprised by his own admission.

“Oh baby,” Steve sadly coos. His voice breaks. “My poor baby…”

It hits Bucky then: oh _god_ … Steve was right. Bucky never wanted to be hurt right now. He just truly, honestly thinks that’s all he deserves. Because being touched so reverently by Steve is what he really loves best – and that’s what will destroy him so much more when it’s eventually ripped from his grasp. _This:_ this unmatched, unparalleled love between them – _that’s_ what has Bucky petrified. That’s what he feels unworthy of.

It’s what he can’t afford to lose, but the embodiment of everything he thinks he will.

He – _oh god_ , _why does everything feel so fucked up lately?_ Bucky makes a pained sound and _really_ unravels then, the floodgates opening so he can let it all out and cry like he’d die by the time this was all over. Steve starts saying his name; goes back to bestowing kiss after kiss on him. Gets to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky’s still crying when he turns his face in without a moment’s hesitation and meets Steve’s lips.

Steve grinds against him faithfully, making the press down a little harder each time. Bucky’s all over the fucking place. He’s got the lines for the restraints fisted in both hands, yanking on them for dear life. There are tears still appearing from beneath his blindfold; streaming down his cheeks, smearing salt with the initial mist of sweat. He sniffles and cries into every kiss Steve gives him. But he also pants, void of all breath in his lungs. Steve’s cock bearing down on his and Steve’s tongue filling his mouth his _oh, oh it’s so good_ – and he moans unstably.

Steve keeps repeating Bucky’s name and mumbling whenever he can get the chance: “I love you. I love you. I love you…”

“Steve…”

“You deserve everything. You deserve it all,” Steve tells him. “Buck, don’t think for a second you don’t. Not while I’m here, not _ever_.”

“B… But--”

“You are _not_ allowed,” Steve interrupts insistently. The sharpness underlying his command pierces into Bucky and weakens him. There’s liquid heat flowing through his veins, making him slump deeper into the bed, heavier and heavier with every exhale. Bucky imagines it’s _gold_ , just like the way Steve makes him feel. His only reply to that is to moan.

Steve turns Bucky’s face in so he can kiss him. “You deserve everything,” he says again, “and if you don’t believe me anymore, then that’s my fault. That’s _my_ fault, baby, okay? I need to take better care of you, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Do you trust me?”

Bucky swallows. He may not believe in the way Steve sees _him_ right now _,_ but he _does_ believe in Steve. He always has. So there’s no hesitation; he chokes out, “Yes.”

“Do you trust me, Bucky?”

He nods against Steve’s face. “I trust you.”

“I’m… I’m going to make love to you now, Buck,” Steve explains. It’s factual, giving Bucky no room to argue, but at the same time, empathetic. It’s like the pain making Bucky’s chest tight was projected into Steve’s heart, and then mirrored right back to him. “And you’re going to let me. You’re going to be my sweet boy and lie still so I can make you feel good. Aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes…”

“And you’re going to tell me if there’s something from me you need that I’m not giving you. No guessing games this time; just tell me and I’ll do it. What’s the word if you want me to stop?”

“Red.”

“There we go, baby. That’s right. You say that word at any time and it’ll all stop, okay?”

Bucky mutters, “Okay…”

Cool air rushes over Bucky as the body above his – the _blanket_ , Steve had been so warm – pushes away again, letting in too much negative space for Bucky’s liking. On impulse, he tries to move his hands to Steve’s back to cling to him and pull him back down. The sudden yanking sensation and the abrupt halt reminds him of his current situation.

Trapped, can’t touch. Can’t see. There’s a second where that almost leads to panic, but Bucky doesn’t want that gone. He knows he doesn’t. So the urge to let that one little word slip past his tongue is shoved back down. _You say that word at any time and it’ll all stop_ …

That’s the opposite of what Bucky wants. He never wants this to end. Even if it’s too good to be true, and even if he doesn’t deserve Steve like Steve thinks he does – Bucky never wants this to end, it _can’t_.

Steve pets his hair. The tip of his nose brushes back and forth across Bucky’s. A butterfly’s kiss. Bucky tries to lift his head a little to catch Steve’s mouth, but then he’s already gone and all Bucky clumsily gets is the back of his cheek. He’s gradually calming down; whatever remains of his tears, drying away. It doesn’t matter – Steve still runs his knuckles over the invisible trails to wipe away any tears that might be left. There’s the odd sniffle here and there, but Bucky focuses on his breathing to get him through it and slow his heart.

He’s safe. Steve’s going to take care of him. He doesn’t have to run from this. It’s his, it’s meant for them, and Bucky can trick himself into believing it’ll always be this way. All he has to do is give himself over to it.

“I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do to you, Buck,” Steve’s voice comes back to him. He licks down the center of Bucky’s throat, causing the younger boy to arch his head back with a sigh. He can feel the tip of Steve’s tongue flick at the hollow of his throat, lifting the tag of his collar from his skin and sucking on it. There’s a soft breath taken above him, and when the tag falls back against his skin, it’s warm and wet with spit.

“First I’m going to coat every inch of you that I can with hickies,” Steve says. He demonstrates by sucking onto Bucky’s collarbone until Bucky’s panting and trying to both shrink away from him and push harder against his mouth. Steve’s especially good at leaving marks. Efficient; seems to know exactly how to coax the bruise to the surface without having to tend to that one spot for more than a few seconds.

He starts crawling over Bucky, branding him with the _good_ kind of marks – the ones Bucky likes best because they last him a week or two at best. Some of them, the result of Steve _biting_ him rather than sucking; deep and mindful for a good few seconds while Bucky writhes as much as his restrained body can manage, crying out raggedly. Steve’s very talented at not piercing the skin and causing Bucky to bleed. But it still leaves Bucky feeling like a chewed piece of meat with those beautiful little indentations littering his skin, seducing hues of red and purple around them until he’s just as colorful there as he is everywhere else.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to figure out Steve’s strategy. He’s picking every spot that’s normally covered by clothing and won’t be at as much of a risk of discovery. Not an inch outside of those boundaries gets his mouth. That means nothing below the knees and nothing beyond the shoulders and clavicles. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bucky registers that he’ll have to be mindful to wear nothing but t-shirts over the next couple weeks. No swimming, either.

It’s a very small price to pay.

Bucky wishes he could see what he’s starting to look like. Steve wasn’t exaggerating, it feels like he’s actually coating every single inch of unblemished skin, placing rows of hickies _beside_ hickies until Bucky’s aching… Tingling… Dwindled away to nothing but spit and contusions and teeth marks. _God_ , he’s branding Bucky _everywhere_ – his chest, his abs… Nothing feels like it goes untouched within the parameters Steve has set.

His sides, his lower belly, his hips… Steve gives those attention too, breathing with control through his nose as he navigates Bucky’s body. Subsequently, fueling Bucky to make up for his silence with his own desperate moans. At one point, he even bends Bucky’s knees to his chest so he can start latching onto the back of his thighs and suck bruises there, too.

The base of his cock, his perineum, all around his slickened hole… Steve leaves those parts of him for last, but by no means have they been forgotten. Bucky’s howling and putting up a decent struggle against his wrist cuffs by the time Steve is alternating between placing yet _another_ hickie inches from his asshole, and getting lube back on his tongue when he can’t resist fucking Bucky’s insides with it anymore.

Bucky could be going insane, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was about to come again. With no way of knowing how much time has passed, the concept in and of itself becomes obsolete. Time doesn’t exist. Steve’s been marking Bucky’s body up for ten million years, and that sort of thing makes sense in this moment. It feels like truth.

But Steve eventually stops and tells Bucky he can lower his legs back to the bed. There’s a pause, and then Steve groans, _loudly._ Bucky whimpers and squirms, wishing he could see him so fucking badly.

“Talk to me,” he begs as a substitute.

Steve’s hands return to his thighs, bringing back _touch_ , and it’s like a soothing balm. He massages Bucky and tells him, voice _fucked_ , “Oh god, you have to see yourself. Look at you, you’re so beautiful – Jesus, Buck, I may have gone a little overboard. _Fuck…_ ”

“Whaddaya mean?”

Chuckling guiltily, Steve answers, “Um… weeeeeell… I think I just turned you into a human watercolor painting.” There’s another overwhelmed, satisfied little groan. “God fucking damnit, Bucky, you’re breathtaking…”

That goes to Bucky’s head so much more than it probably would anyone else. Steve turned him into _art_ , he – he needs--

“Show me,” Bucky whispers. “Please, show me, lemme see, I wanna see.”

Those thumbs keep stroking over the meat of Bucky’s thighs with a firm, nurturing pressure. A beat passes where nothing is said, and Bucky’s ready to open his mouth again and ask _properly_ for Steve to remove his blindfold, when Steve breaks the silence by asking, “You alright with me leaving the room?”

Anxiety at the mere suggestion strikes him. It makes no sense. All Bucky knows is that he can’t have Steve leave him, because – because him leaving the room might as well be the equivalent of him leaving the _city_ , him leaving Bucky and never returning ever again. It’s overwhelming and unexpected, making Bucky just as confused as to where that came from as he is panicking.

It must be completely readable on what Steve _can_ see of his face, because he only gets as far as stammering out in fear, “Wh – What?” And then Steve is advancing over him to cup his face and kiss at his mouth, strong and reassuring.

“It’s okay, I don’t need to go anywhere,” he quickly says. “Shh, easy. Easy, baby. I should’ve phrased my question better, that was my fault. Listen…”

Another kiss. Bucky relaxes into it a little bit more.

Steve patiently breaks it down for him, like he’s speaking to an infant: “All I meant was, I wanna show you what you look like but I need my phone. And my phone is downstairs on the living room table. It’ll take me less than a minute to run downstairs, grab it, and come back. I _will_ come back, Bucky, you know I will. Easy breaths, in and out, _there you go_ … You know I wouldn’t leave you up here, sweetheart. I’m not done making you feel good.”

The idea still has Bucky tense. Unsure. There’s not much left of his logical brain, but what _does_ remain acknowledges that he’s still overreacting. This sense of panic is completely unfounded and based on nothing but _emotion_ , but… it’s still there. Because the only thing that exists for Bucky right now is Steve and if Steve leaves, he’s left with nothing. _Please don’t abandon me, please stay, I’m being good for you_ \--

“Baby, are you still here with me?” Steve murmurs. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Bucky nods.

“Check in,” Steve requests.

Bucky swallows, trying to get a hold of himself. He’s being ridiculous. For a second, he can’t remember the word, and _that_ throws him off. After a few more seconds of frowning while he wracks his brain, he remembers – _right, it’s traffic lights, they agreed on those ‘cause they’re fucking hard to forget_ – and tells Steve, “Green. I’m here.”

There’s a smile in Steve’s voice when he replies, “That’s my good boy. What if I finished telling you everything I’m gonna do to you once I got back up here – would that make it easier for me to run downstairs?”

Interest definitely piqued, Bucky nods and licks his lips. “That could – yeah, yeah tell me.”

He’s rewarded with a rich, deep chuckle next to his ear. It chimes like bells, pouring out more of that liquid gold into his skin. “Well,” Steve begins, “I’ll show you what you look like first, but then we’re gonna put that blindfold back on you. Then, if you wait for me patiently and don’t put up a fuss while I was downstairs, I’ll suck you off nice and slow while using the vibrator on you.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. He moans needily, about to start begging for Steve to just forego the whole phone thing and _do that_ already.

“You can come as many times as you want,” Steve continues, before Bucky can get the chance, “and when I think you’re ready to take my cock, I’m gonna fuck you. Not gonna stop until you come for me at least twice while I’m inside you. You can beg me all you want to give it to you harder, and you can beg me to hurt you, but that’s the one thing I _won’t_ give you. And why’s that, Buck?”

_‘What you need right now is for me to take care of you…’_

“Because I need you to… take care of me…” Bucky quietly answers.

Steve sounds like he’s breathing heavier. _Oh_ , Bucky needs to see his face, just for a second. He’s right there, but Bucky still misses him so much.

He tells Bucky: “Yes. Because your body belongs to me, which means I know what it needs right now, not you. If I say you need to be made love to instead of fucked senseless, it means _that’s what you need_. You don’t have to do a thing; just let me handle it. I’ll give it what it needs, you’re gonna feel so good, Buck.”

Bucky wants all of that _now_. “I love you, Steve,” he slurs out.

“I love you too, Bucky. I love you so much, I’m gonna take such good care of you. And when it’s all over, and I just can’t stop myself from coming inside of you, you know what I’m gonna do, baby? So you know you’re mine?”

Bucky’s tilting his hips, uncontrollably humping his cock into the air between them like he’d get some friction that way if he tried hard enough. His mouth is permanently hung open, lips and tongue nearly _dry_ from how roughly he’s breathing. With the blindfold on, it’s a lot easier than normal to conjure up the visual images to go with Steve’s words; to imagine how every last bit of that would feel.

Steve takes pity on him and doesn’t press like he normally would for an answer. Instead, he just tells him, “I’m going to fit that pretty little plug into you. You’re not allowed to remove it at any point tonight unless you absolutely have to. That means _all_ of prom.”

Bucky’s losing his mind. Hearing all of these promises is torture. All he’s doing is moaning now, breathy and continuous, because he’s _trying_ to say Steve’s name and he’s _trying_ to beg for it, but none of that is able to come out. His brain feels like it’s on fire, and nothing matters in this world but Steve Rogers – this god who really _does_ know exactly what Bucky needs, better than Bucky thought he knew it himself. He was wrong. He doesn’t know a thing about himself, not when they’re together. Steve knows best, and he’ll never question him again.

Steve’s an angel, he’s a fucking angel because now Bucky will get to carry Steve’s claim over him all night as a reminder; the badges of Bucky’s submission to Steve painting the skin beneath his suit, and his come still hot and full in his ass, _all night_ – like Steve had _just_ been there and never left. Bucky had been so gutted at the thought of not being able to share this night with him, but now it’s like they’ll really be together.

No matter what Bucky does tonight, or who he’s with, or who he’s _not_ with… He is as the back of his collar says he is: _property of Steve Rogers_.

“Can I go grab my phone now? Are you alright with that?”

Mustering up enough brain power for one measly word, Bucky zeroes in on it and restlessly starts chanting, “ _Go_ – go, go, go, go…”

“Color.”

“ _G-Green_ , jus’ – go, please, hurry please, go--”

True to his word, it only takes Steve less than a minute to go downstairs and back. It still feels like hours, but Bucky bites down on his lip whenever he feels like he’s about to start wailing for him to come back. He can _hear_ Steve’s footsteps, so rationally Bucky knows he isn’t far.

Still, it’s about the one time so far that the blindfold over his eyes feels more like a curse than a blessing. Whether he had it on or off, he’d still be tied up and waiting by himself. But somehow with it on, there’s an added layer of isolation. He’s never felt claustrophobic before when they’ve played with bondage, and it’s not that Bucky suddenly feels like he’s in danger or anything, but… admittedly, the entire time Steve’s gone, it’s like that fold of black silk over his eyes is squeezing his head too tight. Suffocating. He wishes he asked Steve to remove it _before_ leaving him.

As soon as Steve’s footsteps hit the doorway again, Bucky’s breathing out a sigh of relief, sinking a bit deeper against the mattress. He came back. He didn’t leave Bucky there – _of course he wouldn’t have._ He’s safe, Steve’s going to make sure he’s okay and taken care of. And then he hears a low, pleased noise by the foot of the bed, and that goes directly to Bucky’s head too. In his own throat, Bucky whimpers frantically and lifts his head – tugging against the bonds – before dropping it back into the pillow like dead weight.

“You okay, sweetheart? See? I came right back. Couldn’t leave you if I tried – _look_ at you, my god. How could I ever walk away from this, hmm?” Steve asks, finally severing that painful disconnection between them by touching Bucky’s ankle and circling the side of it with his thumb. He adds under his breath as an afterthought, “Fuck, you’re marked up. This is amazing.”

“Show me,” Bucky requests, “please, Steve? Please?”

There’s another one of those guttural hums that gets Bucky’s cock jolting against his stomach. Steve directs him the way he wants him, which really only involves bringing his heels a little higher up the mattress and then letting his legs part and lewdly tip to the sides. Steve keeps releasing these sharp exhales and murmuring about how perfect Bucky is, how gorgeous he looks right now. Every compliment heats Bucky’s skin until he feels like it’s melting off his bones.

There’s a dip at the very end of the mattress, and then Steve stops moving. Stops speaking. Nothing but the wait. Bucky isn’t sure what _for_ , so he swallows and asks, “Steve? Steve?”

“I’m still here, Buck, don’t worry,” Steve assures him, even though Bucky already knew that. “I’m just trying to find the best angle so you can see… I think I got it. God, that’s nice.” He chuckles, “I’m already dying about the fact that I’ll have to delete this after. Fuck. Okay, hold still, you look incredible.”

Bucky summons every last shred of self-control he has to do as he’d told and not _move_ , not _squirm,_ not _shake_ , not anything. But then again, nothing happens. Five seconds later or so – _or twenty years, it feels like either at this point_ – Bucky brusquely whines, “ _Please_ , come on!”

Steve chuckles. “Sorry, you just look so good. I guess I’m getting a little greedy… Hmm, I wanna try… Say my name for me, Buck?”

When Bucky tries, it’s obvious that it’s not hitting the exact note Steve’s hoping for; feels a bit forced. Steve’s gentle palm is suddenly pressing to Bucky’s dick and pushing down to grind it against Bucky’s abs. There was no way to prepare him, making Bucky gasp and arch his spine from the bed; the rest of him, otherwise stoic.

“Say my name, little boy,” Steve lovingly orders.

This time, Bucky moans out automatically, “Oh god – _Steve_ ,” and that one’s completely genuine.

Groaning, Steve retracts his hand. Bucky tilts his hips up to try and chase it back, but the touch is gone. Frustrated and horny as sin, he drops his ass back down and gives his bonds a few lazy tugs.

“One more time, Buck. Say my name."

Bucky moans it out again, exasperation and arousal butting heads, and it’s the exact moment that the name slips past his lips that Bucky hears the phone’s camera go off. _Click_. Steve comes over to him and sits down. It’s abnormally bright when he slips the blindfold off Bucky’s face. He has to blink a few times, like a newborn babe seeing the world for the first time as his pupils quickly fight to adjust. Steve cups his cheek and smiles down at him until Bucky’s unfocused gaze rolls over to him. Bucky smiles back.

“There’s my beautiful boy,” Steve quietly murmurs. “This is gonna sound sappy but god, I missed those eyes. Shame they have to be covered up.”

Blushing, Bucky bites his lip and then asks, “Can I see…?”

Those eyes of his nearly pop out of his head when Steve holds up the phone and shows him. He has to admit, he looks fucking _good_ – the way Steve angled it, combined with the restraints, the blindfold, and the way Bucky’s lips are just the tiniest bit parted, his nose scrunched up… With the way Steve had him bend his knees and spread his legs, the photo perfectly captures all of the damage done to not only Bucky’s abdomen and chest, but his ass and a little glimpse at the backs of his thighs.

It’s filthy but it’s weirdly _elegant_ at the same time. Bucky understands Steve’s plight – Bucky doesn’t want him to delete this photo at all. Knowing they have no other choice is like a punch to the gut.

However, _aside_ from it being one of the single hottest things he’s ever seen, Steve wasn’t kidding. He definitely went way, _way_ overboard. It’s almost laughable; Bucky’s arms, face, neck, and calves are his normal skin color, completely unblemished. Everything else is a mess of reds and purples, like Bucky’s midriff was made of polkadots. There are brutal-looking teeth marks sporadically chewed into his body, and Bucky can already tell without feeling it yet that sitting is going to be damn near impossible for the next week.

_Just makes everything a better reminder…_

Looking away from the phone, Bucky tilts his chin down to actually _see_ down his body, as much of it as he can. _Holy shit_ , it looks even better in real life. They’re all Steve’s gift to him. Every last one, a literal claim; a possessive act of ownership. Collar and bite marks and hickies – everything Bucky is wearing symbolizes who Bucky is in this world, and who he belongs to.

Right as he starts to moan, in his peripherals Steve places the phone down and then grabs Bucky’s chin to turn his face to the side. Crushing their lips together, Steve properly climbs back onto the bed while he wastes no time fucking his tongue into Bucky’s mouth. Lying on his side, he reaches up to the blindfold pushed up to Bucky’s forehead. With gentle fingers, he pinches it and slowly pulls it back down, re-covering Bucky’s eyes.

The transition back into darkness is smooth and surprisingly relaxing; like a wave of more hot, liquid gold washing from his hair to his toes. When Bucky exhales a helpless moan, he can physically feel the leftover remnants of his tension push out with the air in his lungs. It fills the room and drifts away, as if it’s finally decided it can leave Bucky Barnes alone for a while.

And then those same fingers are gliding down Bucky’s bruised midriff and taking hold of his cock, slowly beginning to jerk him off. Bucky cries out softly into Steve’s mouth, thrusting his hips up at the contact. Steve whispers, “Shh…” and “Oh, I know baby…” and the _sympathetic_ tone belies the fact that Steve never stops, never quickens but also never slows down. Just keeps torturing Bucky, and Bucky tries to contain himself, he really does.

It’s a lost cause. Wavering whines turn back into loud, passionate moans within seconds. When keeping his ass to the bed proves not to be an option anymore, and Bucky grounds his heels to the bed so he can thrust up and down into Steve’s fist, Steve doesn’t stop him. He’ll just slot his lips tighter over Bucky’s and fill the empty space inside with his tongue, like he lives for the taste of Bucky’s moans.

Steve takes his leisurely time. He retraces his steps across Bucky’s body, kissing everywhere he’d previously sucked on and bitten. He repositions himself so he’s on his knees between Bucky’s legs, allowing him to reach up with both hands and gingerly scratch the very tips of his fingernails from Bucky’s neck – over his collar – to the v in his hipbones. With his senses heightened it tickles more than usual, in a mind-blowing way that Bucky hadn’t expected. It makes his skin break out into a fresh batch of goosebumps; makes his breath catch, makes his slit wet with a small drop of precome…

Every time Bucky can’t stand it and starts begging for more, Steve pretends not to hear him. And every time, Bucky’s thankful that he didn’t listen. The love in Steve’s unfaltering touch is merciless and it’s unforgiving. It ensnares Bucky and forces him to acknowledge its presence until there’s no more room for doubt. Bucky hates it as much as he’s dying for it, because it feels so good, but it still hurts. Bucky hates _Steve_ as much as he loves him in this moment, because only Steve could see how badly Bucky needs to shatter and then somehow still make his destruction beautiful.

_You selfish kid, so fucking selfish, you will never deserve him…_

_But I want to._

Steve wraps his lips around him and sucks Bucky off just as nice and just as slow as he’d promised. Bucky’s legs are slung over his shoulders, thighs caging Steve in place while his tongue drags back and forth; soft, warm cheeks hugging all around Bucky until there are stars dancing behind his lids. His hands grip Bucky’s sides; hold him steady in a silent reminder – _this is safe and this is mine_ – whenever Bucky bridges his back on and off the bed, shaking violently.

Bucky tries to hold off on giving into that orgasm that’s beckoning him closer with a single, seductive curl of the finger for as long as he can. It’s only when he’s slick everywhere with sweat and Steve frees his mouth long enough to whisper, “Come for me,” that Bucky remembers he’s _allowed_ to do that. As many times as he wants, Steve had said.

It’s instantaneous after that. Steve says the magic words and a switch in Bucky flips. His body reacts to the command before Bucky can even process it, and he does what Steve wants: he comes, before Steve can even fit Bucky back into his mouth. There’s a startled moan from between his legs, like Bucky just accidentally shot onto Steve’s _face_. Bucky really wishes he could _see_ that… Steve staring up at him with his mouth, his chin, even his cheeks streaked with the thin white lines of Bucky’s climax; tongue sticking out and catching whatever it can while he never blinks or looks away…

And then he aborts that moan in favor of sucking Bucky through the rest of it. The air around them is filled with nothing but a litany of _Steve, Steve, Steve…_ At least, that’s the way it sounds in Bucky’s head. Sometimes, he isn’t fully certain if that’s what’s actually coming out of his mouth, or if he’s making any sense at all.

“Fuck, you always taste so fucking good,” Steve groans after pulling away. There’s a pause, then a deep hum. Steve tells him, “God, you… you came when I told you to. Mm, _god_ Buck, I wanna train you to come for me whenever I tell you to.”

“ _Mm… U-Uh…_ ” is the only thing Bucky can moan in response – picturing it, trying to imagine how it’d feel to be _that_ good for Steve… To be able to come just from Steve’s voice giving him the command… What training for such a thing would even _be_ like…

“Open up, sweetheart.”

Bucky slackens his jaw. Steve’s finger pushes past his lips, and the moment Bucky touches his tongue to it he can taste his own come. Guess he _had_ accidentally gotten some on Steve’s face. _Jesus fucking Christ_ , the image that puts into Bucky’s head. One day, maybe Steve will let Bucky dirty him up everywhere; let Bucky come multiple times, each time somewhere new on Steve’s body. _All_ over his pretty face, especially there. Maybe if he asked sweetly, Steve would do the same to him in return.

He laps at Steve’s finger like a good little boy until it’s all cleaned off. With his other hand, Steve sounds like he’s reaching over to grab something else off the night table. Bucky’s still trying to suck on his finger, still massaging it with his tongue when Steve pulls it out. The loss jars Bucky into the sudden mindset that he needs _more_ , _he needs so much more than this_. He needs Steve balls deep inside of him – doesn’t matter how slow and gentle he wants to take it, Bucky just needs that feeling of Steve filling him up and connecting them together.

So as soon as he can talk again, he’s panting, “Fuck me, please sir, please? Fuck… _Fuck_ … Stevie, wan’ you so bad, _please_ \--”

“Soon baby,” Steve answers. Bucky hears him pop open the lid to his bottle of lube. There’s some more shuffling, and then Steve maneuvers his way back to his spot between Bucky’s legs. Bucky compulsively opens them wider, and Steve mutters, “Good boy.”

Pride blooms across Bucky’s chest – and then he’s met with a noisy _buzzing_ sound.

 _Oh fuck_. He’d completely forgotten about the vibrator. Big and long and shaped like a fake cock, the sight of it is an instant reminder of _so_ many fun nights they’ve shared with Steve using that thing on him. Right away, Bucky’s whining like it’s already jammed to the handle inside of him, grinding his ass down to the bed. Steve sounds breathless when he places his free hand on the side of Bucky’s knee and says, “That’s it, sweetheart. Knew my little baby would want this.”

“I wan’ it,” Bucky exhales, still feeling that invisible toy already fucking him open.

“You remember the size of this, baby,” Steve gently warns him. “It’s not exactly small.”

He presses the rubber head to Bucky’s rim and applies only enough pressure to tease him. The second the vibrations start kissing Bucky’s asshole, he’s shamelessly opening his legs as much as he can with a gasp, immediately trying to push back against it so his body can swallow it whole. Steve, however, doesn’t let him yet. Bucky makes a pathetically desperate sound, incapable of anything else.

“Please,” he whimpers.

“Just remember to breathe,” Steve instructs, thinking as always about Bucky’s safety first and foremost. Bucky knows it’s necessary – especially since he really has no mind to care about that sort of thing _himself_ right now – but it still sort of makes him want to punch Steve for taking so fucking long. Then he feels Steve start _pushing_ the head of the toy against his hole, and he shouts like he’s bartering for his life, “Please, _please!_ ”

“You can take it, sweetheart. You listen so well; make me so fucking happy,” Steve praises him, sounding carnal, even if still adoring and protective. “If you need me to stop at any point, just say the word.”

“ _Mm_ … I – _ah!_ Steve, _puh – please!_ ” Bucky’s damn near sobbing now, his sanity dangerously compromised.

Steve keeps pushing the vibrator against him. For a moment there’s a sharp lick of pain that shoots around Bucky’s stubborn rim. All Steve needs to do is twist it the tiniest bit while he carefully continues to coax it in. Just as suddenly, the discomfort ebbs as the head pops inside of him. Bucky throws his head back, crying out blissfully; every exhale sounding a little wet and labored.

The initial slide in is one of Bucky’s favorite parts, especially when he’s getting opened up by something on the _bigger_ side. Bucky’s a size whore – he doesn’t even care. For him, it’s a turn on. The bigger it is, the more he can feel every single inch. The better the strain. One of the hottest feelings in the world is being so split open that you’re convinced it’s _impossible, you just can’t take it,_ only to prove yourself wrong. And it feels so fucking _good_ being wrong.

And then when it’s as far in him as it could possibly go, Steve flicks at the small switch at the very bottom of the toy, kicking it up to a higher setting. It strikes Bucky like lightning and the word that flies out of him is about five different curses blurred into one. Steve begins a steady rhythm, withdrawing the vibrator most of the way so the head always has a chance to scrape up against Bucky’s prostate. Only for a second, though – just enough to make Bucky squeal, and then Steve’s groaning to himself and sliding it back in.

The pace is faster than what Bucky got when Steve was going down on him, but it’s still just as excruciating. Everything in him that could possibly know how to _want_ is constantly on the cusp of begging Steve to give it to him _harder_ , fucking _quicker_. But at this point, he can’t translate anything into words. He tries. But when they get from his brain to his tongue, the pleas melt like chocolate, and Bucky just swallows them away, forgetting they were even there at all.

“Fuck,” Steve keeps repeating to himself, sounding entranced. Bucky doesn’t know whether he’s so bewitched by the sight of Bucky’s ass taking his toy so well, or the sweat rolling off every curve of him in beads, or the blend of his scarlet flush mixing with all of his hickies, or the expression on Bucky’s half-hidden face as he cries out _again_ and _again_ and _again…_

Not knowing makes Bucky’s head spin. Because it could be any of those things. It could be all of them. He’s buzzing inside and out and he’s starting to forget _why_ he was so wound up when he first got here. He tries to remember, but it’s like his thoughts just keep spinning right back around and coming back to _Steve_. Bucky can’t seem to focus on anything else – just _Steve_ and _Steve’s touch_ and _Steve’s voice_ and _Steve’s toy fucking his ass…_

Bucky doesn’t know how long this goes on for before he’s half-hard again. One second he knows that he’s now surviving purely on the need to wait for that moment when Steve pulls the vibrator away and it hits his sweet spot. The next, he’s got that _and_ Steve angling his dick back up to suck it back into his mouth again. It scrambles his focus even worse than it already is and leaves Bucky discombobulated.

For one single second, Bucky forgets _where_ he is, what _day_ it is, _who_ he is. It’s as if he _almost_ fell into a waking dream, but then pulls back out in the very next second, placing him back in the room with Steve. He’s never felt that before and has no clue what it just was. But then the combined sensations of Steve blowing him and the consistent drag and push of the vibrator catch up, and Bucky stops caring.

“More, oh my – my _god_ , m-more, _more_ …” Everything is mumbled, coming out lethargically. Bucky feels like his mind is beginning to trek through mud. It’s a struggle just to force his mouth open and vocalize the words coherently, having to sometimes _pause_ when that simple task proves to be a challenge. “C-Come… Gonna… Plea’ Steve… Fuckme… G-Gonna… More please, I… I…”

Steve pulls back with a slick _pop_ and then licks flat up the underside of Bucky’s erection. “You want me to fuck you now, baby?” His voice sounds a little further away than it should.

Bucky nods, mouth petered open. Even that feels more difficult than usual. His head feels like it’s made of bricks. “Ye’please,” he slurs, “more…”

But then Steve seems to be pulling the vibrator _out_ of him. That’s not what Bucky wants, and his mind can’t process why Steve’s _doing_ that. _No, no, no no_ – he can’t have _less_ , he needs _more_ , he needs so much more, he needs to be ripped apart from it, _oh god it feels so good--_

His lips form more words. Bucky feels like he’s talking underwater. “No _please_ … No… _More_ … Steve, _more_ please… Please don’t.”

“Bucky?”

It’s still inside of him but the movement has stopped. Bucky can never have the movement stop, and he needs it deeper again. God, but he needs _Steve_ , too. He needs it all, it feels incredible and Bucky’s so close, he can feel it, he can _feel_ the clouds again, the _sun_ … Closer than ever before, _oh yeah it’s so fucking good, please_ —

He pushes out, “Fuck me, please, jus’… Righ’ now, fuck me…”

Steve sounds uncertain when he hesitantly asks, “‘Right…’ You mean...? _With_ this thing?” Bucky does his best to nod again, and Steve’s silent for an insufferable length of time. Bucky’s definitely crazy now – he’s crazy, _lock him away_ , he’ll lose his mind if he loses this first.

“Are you…? That could really hurt you, Buck… I’m not sure if we – I mean, what if you can’t…?”

Bucky beats Steve to what he knows is inevitably coming: “G… Gr… _Green_. _Green_ , please… Please…”

The longer Steve takes to respond, the more desolate Bucky’s feeling – because his brain doesn’t have the capacity at the moment to rationalize any conceivable reason why Steve would refuse him this when he clearly wants it so bad. But then by the grace of god, Bucky hears Steve pick something up and then a small _click._ The bottle of lube. Grateful, Bucky sobs out in thanks and clenches around the vibrator, trying to work his muscles around the thickness of the toy as if he could fuck himself with it without Steve’s help.

“We _need_ to take this slow,” Steve cautiously warns him. His voice is trembling. Bucky finds the outside of his right thigh with his ankle, and closing that small gap between them makes Bucky aware of the fact that Steve’s completely shaking. So is he. Bucky hopes Steve’s shaking for the same reason.

Because he’s adamant that extra prep is necessary, Steve starts by mindfully working one, two, and then three fingers into Bucky alongside the vibrator. It’s a slight strain, but nothing Bucky’s never taken before. He’s had Steve finger him while they’ve fucked in the past, and this is really no different. Wearing that plug over there was one of the smartest choices Bucky ever made. Half of Steve’s work is done for him, since Bucky’s muscles – for the most part – are already soft and lax, waiting for him with more patience than the rest of Bucky currently has.

Before proceeding any further, Steve crawls up his body and buys a few minutes with his lips pressed to Bucky’s and their tongues slowly beating together. Between them, the constant buzzing of the vibrator is muffled within Bucky’s ass, causing him to gasp between kisses. He can practically feel the way the strands of Steve’s hair would be between his fingers, bunched up in his fists. Against the corners of the headboard, Bucky’s grabbing onto the short extensions connected to his leather wrist cuffs; the ones responsible for keeping him prisoner.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks one last time.

“Please… Gimme…”

Steve pecks him once more and then sits back on his knees. Bucky doesn’t know what to expect. He’s not really thinking about that. He just _wants_ , and that’s all that’s driving him forward at this point. But he attempts to slow his breathing even more and relax his hole as much as physically possible. Because the pleasure from the vibrator is continuous, with nowhere to hide, it makes it a little tough. His ass keeps fluttering around it uncontrollably, no matter how hard Bucky’s trying to will himself to go completely still.

But then Steve presses the tip of his cock to his hole – right above where the vibrator is sticking out of him – and begins to push. Bucky’s entire body is seizing with a gasp so sharp it makes his lungs hurt. Whatever Bucky thought it would be like, he was wrong. There’s no way he could’ve been prepared for something like this.

It’s not that the push in is actually difficult or anything, because it isn’t. On the contrary, it’s effortless. They _both_ seem to be thrown off by how quickly and smoothly Bucky expands around him and accepts him inside.

No, it’s not the push in. It’s the stretch. It’s simultaneously the most uncomfortable and the most indescribably glorious sensation Bucky’s ever experienced. No human being should be able to open up that wide, and yet it’s happening. Steve’s not by any means a small man – his cock is fucking _huge_ , and the toy already buried within him could give him a run for his money.

Right away, Bucky’s as stiff as a board from head to toe; every noise escaping him sounding like someone drove their fist into his chest and ripped it out. The back of his head is crushing down into the pillow, all of his muscles taut as a bow string and making the veins in his neck stress against the surface. His Adam’s apple is shoving against his collar, choking him. Beneath the blindfold, beneath those closed lids, Bucky’s eyes start rolling back into his head.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and he can’t possibly relax his body, there’s no actual way. In the distance – sounds like he’s on the other side of a field – Steve seems to be just as caught off guard. With the vibrator pressing against the underside of his dick, and Bucky’s ass clamping down on him like a vice grip, Bucky hears him panting harshly and moaning out with the air in his lungs, “O-Oh my… g-god… Oh god, _oh fuck,_ god, oh my god…”

Steve’s cock doesn’t seem to have an end. It’s still pushing into him, never stopping. In reality, he’s only got a couple inches inside of him so far, but to Bucky it feels like Steve’s entire fist. Now he’s _really_ fighting against his bonds, pushing his wrists so hard against the restraints and fists clenched so tightly that his hands are turning a bright pink. Bucky grits his teeth and wheezes.

 _Can’t breathe_ , he’s going to rip open, he’s going to tear, but he’s _soaring_ up, flying beside birds, beside _angels_ – tumbling, spinning, and gliding across the wind… God, he’s _alive_ \--

Somewhere hundreds of feet below – thousands of feet _above_ – he hears himself struggling to whine, “No more...” His head turns from side to side. He begins to cry from over-stimulation, every one of his limits tested. He babbles, breathy and whimpering out, “C-Can’t, oh my god, no… no more… I can’t take it, can’t take it, _oh god_ , yeah… Stevie… _Oww_ , ohh, god yeah, _mm_ … Fuck, I can’t take it…”

“Are you okay?” Steve’s voice floats to his ears. He’s speaking underwater, too, but he still sounds _wrecked_ , just like Bucky. Bucky’s head is spinning so fast he thinks he’s going to pass out. It’ll kill him if he doesn’t drown in his own sweat first. “…Buck…? Buck – yellow, red? Do you need me to _stop?_ ” 

“Stop, _oh stop_ , yeah, oh please, _please_ … Can’t t… take… Oh, baby, _god_ , don’t… _More_ … Don’t s-s-stop…”

Bucky’s not sure _who’s_ saying all of that nonsense anymore. It sounds like his voice, but he can’t feel his lips moving. His mouth feels fuzzy and numb. He realizes he’s now feeling that everywhere, actually. That liquid gold from earlier is splashing all over his face and seeping into every pore, even crevice and space… Tastes so good… It’s weighing down his head – it’s still spinning so fast.

Steve hesitates – _of course he does_ ; _so sweet, so thoughtful and scared to hurt Bucky, god Bucky’s so lucky_ – but then that dazzling stretch is back and Bucky feels _more_ entering him, filling him, impaling him and turning him into a trophy to stick on the wall for the world to see – _Property of Steve Rogers, Property of Steve Rogers, Property of_ … _Steve… S-Steve…_

He’s screaming; it might be _words_ , he’s not sure. He thinks he hears the word “yes” in there. He can hear Steve, too; crying out softly, raggedly… Moaning Bucky’s name and forgetting how to breathe… Just like him… God, Bucky has to touch him, but he _can’t_ touch, he _can’t it’s not fair_ \--

It’s more than a fist, it’s like a whole fucking _arm_ inside of him. It hurts, but it’s better than anything he’s ever touched, ever tasted, ever known in his whole life. Bucky was born just so he could one day live for this moment. He’s never felt more breakable, but he’s _taking_ it, he’s _good_ and he’s _doing it_ , and it makes him feel fucking powerful. So strong, almost as strong as his beautiful Stevie – _fuck, fu-u-uck he can’t handle this, he’s going to split right down the middle any second now, oh god, god god god_ \--

By the time Steve finally bottoms out, they’re both a mess. Bucky’s hole is stretched obscenely wide around the two cocks rooted within him – the thrumming one making his skin quiver and the one assaulting his prostate because it has _nowhere else to go_. Steve’s cursing; must be slightly bent over Bucky now and holding himself up by one hand because one of the last things Bucky can remember feeling is tiny, wet droplets of sweat sprinkling down onto him and splashing against his abdomen.

The moment around them hangs in the air, waiting for whatever’s next. Bucky’s only hanging on by a thread, balancing on one foot atop a tightrope wire; capable of toppling over and plummeting with even the smallest breeze. The view is beautiful from up there, and the sun is warm and welcoming on his face. Bucky waits…

And then Steve tries to pull out just the _tiniest_ bit, before pushing back in.

Just like that, Bucky unravels, tripping off that wire and falling head first – dropping like an anvil, heavy and _down_ , heavy and _down_. He watches everything pass by him with wide, curious eyes. The fall isn’t scary. It happens really fast and actually feels peaceful. When he hits the ground, there’s no pain.

Instead, he just sinks straight into it, as soft as any pillow. The surface of the world concaves and accepts him inside, that shimmering liquid gold pouring from the cracks and flowing right over him. It’s comforting, and warm, and exquisite. Bucky wonders how he ever lived a day in his life where he _didn’t_ know this sort of feeling existed.

In that same moment, he spills his climax between their bodies. His prostate is swollen and incapable of handling even _that_ simple action without Steve’s dick grinding against it harder than Bucky can handle. It’s never felt like this. Everything’s light and sparkling around him, and every breath is deeper and tastes cleaner. The first real breath Bucky’s ever taken. His skin is tingling, and just the feel of his _heart beating_ sends the most magnificent currents of ecstasy pulsing from his core outward.

He doesn’t scream when he comes. His cries dwindle away to whimpers, getting weaker and weaker, until Bucky’s head is tipped to the side and all he’s doing is exhaling these soft, languorous little moans through barely parted lips. The tension in his body floods out of him, every last drop. Bucky slumps into the bed, boneless and peaceful; thighs no longer clenched and arms no longer tugging against the cuffs. His heart rate feels like it spikes and slows at the same time – _am I dreaming…?_ – and as fast as someone snapping their fingers, Bucky’s breathing slows, evening out.

He doesn’t know where he is anymore. He doesn’t care. For a moment, he wonders if he died because… there’s nothing in the world capable of describing this. It’s intangible… Ethereal… An out of body experience, like he’s right there feeling this with Steve, but then also _outside_ of himself, watching from above… Nestled safe within the earth, never to be hurt again… He’s everywhere, all at once, swimming in gold and floating through air.

“…Buck…?"

Steve’s voice is magical; makes Bucky so fucking happy, he moans. He’s only floating because Steve let him – only swimming because Steve poured the gold over his body. Steve’s so good, his heart is so fucking gentle and Bucky adores him, _god he loves him_ , more than he could ever know. And right now, that’s _all_ he knows.

_Serve, honor, love, obey._

Steve always takes care of the rest… Takes care of Bucky, because Bucky’s his good, sweet little boy…

“…Baby…? Can… hear me…?”

His voice is distant, creeping up on Bucky slowly, like he _is_ living within a dream. Every movement feels sluggish, even with his body being made of air. Bucky smiles, _I love you so much_ … He tries to say it. He moans again instead.

Steve slips the blindfold off of his face. Bucky opens his eyes and stares straight into the sun. It doesn’t blind him like he was always taught to believe it would. It’s so pretty, all flames and fire and colors and _perfect_. The room around him blurs in and out of focus, and Bucky still doesn’t know where he is. That doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter where he is, because he’s with Steve. _Steve Steve Steve_ – looped on repeat and replaying in Bucky’s head, the only word that has any meaning.

A hand touches his cheek, and Bucky’s skin prickles. More pleasure, more endorphins. Bucky moans again as Steve turns his face towards him. Bucky smiles when he sees Steve looming over him. He’s glowing. He’s never looked so stunning, Bucky’s heart bursts and stitches back together and bursts again. In Bucky’s world, he’s able to lift his own hands and brush his fingers across Steve’s lips… Wrap his arms around his neck and pull him down. He can feel the temperature of Steve’s skin; lick over his shoulder and taste the salt before biting down.

In reality, his hands remain where they are… and Bucky stares up beneath lids that barely have the strength to stay open, glassy as marbles and completely incoherent. _I love you_ , he thinks he says again. Really, all he does is moan.

“Bucky? Baby?” Then the words fade away, because Bucky’s too busy watching his lips moving, still too busy being stretched open and loving every second of it, and all he thinks is, _Oh so pretty… So…_

“…Color…?” is the only other word that finds him.

 _Yes,_ _colors_ … Bucky sees so many colors, they’re so divine. He can _taste_ them and _hear_ them, it’s unlike anything he’s ever known before. He wonders if this is how Steve sees the world as an artist, _is this what it’s like? Am I dreaming…? Am I…?_

“I love you, Bucky… So good for me… I’ll keep you safe…”

_I love you…_

Steve begins to slowly fuck into him again, Bucky pliant and staring up adoringly the entire time. It’s no less deep, no less _full_ , but more careful than ever before. He keeps his eyes on Bucky’s face, only pausing to look away if he’s glancing between them to make sure Bucky’s still okay down there. No matter what he does, it all feels like heaven to Bucky, and it feels like a million and one years that he gives Bucky the permission to float and fly and see the world entirely anew.

Bucky tries several more times to tell him how much he loves him, to _thank_ him, but the words either come out mumbled and making no sense, or they only succeed in translating into a moan again. Only once is he able to coherently get out Steve’s name. All the while, Bucky’s soothed by the sounds of Steve panting and talking to him, always such nice things… Such passionate words… About how Bucky’s such a good boy, and… how happy he makes Steve… How good he feels… _I love you, Buck, oh god baby, I love you so much, you’re so beautiful…_

Bucky doesn't even feel himself come the second time. There's just too much going on all over and it all feels like bliss that his release mixes in with the rest, and only causes the faintest shiver to spread over him when he starts to come across his stomach again. He's so enraptured watching Steve finally fall apart above him.

Right before he does, he finally breaks eye contact so he can press all the way into him and then twist to the side, reaching to the night table for the anal plug, already lubed up and waiting. Bucky's suddenly gaping – staring up at the ceiling disjointedly – when Steve pulls out of him and then eases out the vibrator seconds later. With all the pressure gone, Bucky feels completely see-through from the inside out; all opened up so everyone can see who made Bucky his; that no one else ever will lay a hand on Bucky and have the right to his body like this.

Then those grey eyes lazily loll down so he can watch Steve watching _himself_ \- gripping his cock in hand and tilting his hips forward, thrusting back into Bucky's ass only enough to tease his own orgasm out of him. Right when he’s about to come, he pulls out so only the head of him is dipping into Bucky’s beautifully abused hole, still with room to spare around him. Bucky's hot and melting all over, so he doesn't feel it when Steve finally hits his peak and his slit begins to spit out ribbon after of ribbon of come into Bucky’s ass, filling him up with every pulse of his climax.

Bucky just keeps gazing upon his face, lovingly watching Steve work through those minute expressions he always gets when he lets himself go. It’s around that time when Bucky starts to feel himself coming back into the room – sinking back into his skin and bones – in slivers. All he could feel was toe-curling pleasure before, but now he can _also_ feel the faintest trace of a touch when Steve's finger drags across his stomach, scooping up Bucky's come to slip into his ass and mix with his own.

And he's still both heavy and light at the same time by the time Steve's delicately pushing the plug into him to keep it tightly sealed away, but he _does_ feel that completely. Steve keeps glancing up to his face every few seconds, keeping an eye on him to make sure he's okay. Once Bucky’s finally plugged up, he releases a satisfied breath and turns all of his attention to Bucky himself, properly taking him in. A smile turns up the corners of his mouth, and Bucky's heart skips a beat.

Steve reaches up with his clean hand and brushes Bucky's matted bangs from his forehead. Cupping his cheek, he delicately murmurs, "Hi baby. Welcome back…"

Bucky tries to speak, but realizes he's completely exhausted. He still feels satiated - but now he also suddenly feels like he got hit by a bus. It strikes him out of nowhere, making the blow of fatigue that much more intense. Without the necessary strength yet, Bucky swallows and opens his mouth to speak, only to make a fragile noise and abort the effort in midair.

Steve runs his thumb along his cheek. "You still locked in, baby?" he carefully asks. Bucky must give him an inquisitive look, because then he explains, "You're safe, just take deep breaths and try to come back to me. No rush, just take your time, sweetheart… You fell under; pretty deep actually. I never knew before if I’d be able to tell when something like that would happen, but… That was actually incredible. I’ve never… You looked so gorgeous, Buck. And you did great… Thank you for trusting me that much.”

Brows knitting, Bucky tries to process what Steve’s telling him. “I… I went into subspace?”

Steve nods. The vibrator’s still buzzing against the mattress between Bucky’s legs, so he turns it off and puts all of the littering items back on the night table. After joining Bucky by his side again, he goes to undo the restraints around Bucky’s wrists, explaining: “Yeah, we… we just started having sex and you came pretty much right away. Then you went completely limp on me and stopped moving. I wasn’t sure if you were okay or not until I saw your face. The moment I saw your eyes and…” He smiles fondly. “…the _way_ you were looking up at me, I knew what it was. So I just kept trying to talk you through it and made sure that I was careful when I kept going.”

Bucky’s still letting everything sink in, but when he hears that, appreciation fills his heart. Steve didn’t stop – he could’ve freaked out and he could’ve panicked. Months ago, that’s probably exactly what would have happened. But now, he’d chosen to trust in _Bucky’s trust in him_ and kept going. He _didn’t_ stop or let it scare him away, but kept his promise to be the security blanket Bucky sorely needed, helping him through it instead.

They experienced something that phenomenal _together._ A memory of Steve towering over him flickers through his mind; months and months back, but Bucky will never be able to forget it. It was that time Steve went through something similar, and _god_ , Bucky remembers what it’d felt like to witness that and _see_ that level of ecstasy from the outside. The fact that Bucky had been the cause of Steve feeling something so incredible was one of the greatest achievements he’s still to this day ever had.

 _Subspace_ … The concept still leaves Bucky surprised. He’d read a lot about it in the past – especially after he and Steve started seeing each other – but truthfully, he’d been pretty skeptical about it. Wrote it off as a myth. Sure, there had been plenty of instances with Steve in the past where he’d felt similar. Hell, every time they play, Bucky experiences a certain level of entrancement.

But this had been something else entirely. Everything else before was merely a _fraction_ compared to what’d just happened to him – _is_ happening to him. He’s still not fully sure if he’s even out of it yet or not. It was the very definition of complete and total submission, a high he’d never known and one he still feels like he’s riding out. He’s definitely more aware of his surroundings, but he’s still wearing blinders and can’t think much beyond Steve. All the problems he was having earlier come back to him, but only objectively. Right now, he still feels too mellowed out to _care_.

“Wow… Well, mark that down as something I definitely want to try again,” Bucky playfully says, attempting to push himself up into a sitting position. It’s still a lot harder than it probably should be. His body still feels like it weighs a ton; his limbs, nothing but wet noodles. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out at all, though. I would’ve given you some sort of warning, had I known it was gonna happen.”

Chuckling quietly, Steve intervenes when he sees Bucky’s struggle and palms his shoulders. Gently, he coaxes him back down, reminding Bucky that he’d just overexerted himself – not just physically, but mentally as well – and should really let himself rest for a while. Without Bucky having to ask, Steve settles back down beside him and wraps his arm and leg around him, keeping him close, _protected_.

“You don’t have to say sorry,” Steve promises, nuzzling his nose around Bucky’s temple and occasionally giving him soft little kisses. Bucky closes his eyes and smiles. He could die right now and he wouldn’t regret a thing, not when he’s got Steve like this.

Steve continues, “Yeah, I didn’t know what was going on with you for a second and… I mean, I considered stopping but,” he chuckles again at his own expense, “I knew you’d kick my ass once you found out. I knew you’d want me to keep going, and… it really _did_ feel incredible, Bucky. You have no idea what it felt like to know I could make you feel _that_ good.”

“Thank you for not stopping,” Bucky whispers.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Is it okay if I ask you to check in with me? How’re you feeling; still locked in at all?”

Humming, Bucky tries to pull together more brain power so he can figure out the answer to that. Honestly, he’s not even sure how he’d be able to tell. Things still feel sort of fuzzy, and his body’s definitely a little out of whack, but this is also completely new to him. He hopes they’ll get to try this a little more so Bucky can learn these things. Maybe one day, subspace will be second nature to him. _God_ , the thought of that…

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits apologetically, smile ebbing into a small frown. “I think so, a little? I just – I don’t want you to go anywhere. I just want to cuddle, if that’s okay.”

Steve gives him a quick squeeze against his chest. “Of course that’s okay. Before I get comfy though, are you okay with me running to grab a warm wash cloth? Or would you rather I stay? If you want me to stay, baby, I’ll stay. It’s what you’re comfortable with.”

Bucky doesn’t like the idea of Steve leaving, but it’s not the same feeling as the panic he’d felt earlier, when Steve went downstairs to grab his phone. Now knowing that he was likely already beginning to fall under while all of that was happening, Bucky’s irrational fears and knee-jerk overreaction make a lot more sense. This time, he has no doubt that Steve will come back. So he answers, “Just be quick, okay?”

Steve’s gone and returned within thirty seconds. When he climbs back into bed, Bucky sighs with a smile and gravitates towards him like a magnet, happy to have that natural body heat back. Steve’s always reminded him of a walking furnace, and the second Bucky’s touching him, he’s always eased into relaxation.

Steve guides Bucky onto his back so he can lie beside him and place gentle kisses along his neck and the back of his jaw. All the while, his left hand lazily drags around the wash cloth so he can clean them both up. Bucky first – always Bucky first, drawing it out and taking special care to wipe away every last inch of skin until Bucky’s feeling refreshed.

He’s trying his best to stay awake, but Bucky’s so tuckered out from everything that’s happened so far today that he’s already half asleep by the time Steve twists around so he can ditch the cloth. Like an invisible string connects one to the other, Bucky turns onto his side so he can scooch closer and cuddle up to Steve the moment he turns away.

Steve laughs quietly and assures him, “I’m still here. Not going anywhere, don’t worry baby.” Having noticed how tired Bucky is, he lies back down on his side facing Bucky and pulls him closer so their noses are touching. Bucky sighs happily and smiles. “You should have a nap, Buck. You need to recharge, otherwise you’re gonna crash before you even get to prom.”

 _Prom_. Bucky feels like that should make him anxious, but he still can’t quite remember how come, or give a damn. All he knows is that this is nice, and he never wants to go anywhere else ever again. For now, he’s here, and nothing can touch him. Nothing from before matters just yet. For now, everything’s fine. Bucky’s at peace.

“Mm,” he lazily replies, barely a whisper. After another deep inhale and a steady exhale, he asks, “Time?”

There’s a smile in Steve’s voice when he murmurs back, “Just a little after three. What time did you have to leave to go pick up Natasha?”

“Four-thirty,” Bucky remembers. He cuddles up a tiny bit closer, the reminder making him more adamant about _not wanting to be anywhere else_ just yet.

Steve runs his knuckles from Bucky’s temple down his cheek, before combing his fingers into Bucky’s hair and stroking behind his ear. Bucky’s so calm and serene. Steve always knows exactly how to make him feel his best.

“Okay baby, how about I get you up around four?”

“Mmph.”

Steve chuckles under his breath and gives Bucky’s nose a brief butterfly kiss. “I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promises. Grazing the back of Bucky’s collar with his fingertips, he asks, “Do you want me to take this off for you?”

Bucky shakes his head, tangling his legs with Steve’s. “Mm-mm… Want it on.”

There’s a pause, and then Steve playfully teases in a gentle tone, “‘Want it on’ _what_?”

Smiling sleepily, Bucky corrects himself and answers lightly, “Want it on, _please_.”

“That’s better,” Steve innocently keeps teasing. Bucky responds by reaching his hand up between them and smooshing Steve’s lips between his fingers to shut him up, paired with a harmless _“Shh”_ that makes Steve snort. When Bucky lets go, Steve says nothing else; just kisses the pads of Bucky’s fingers before going back to stroking Bucky’s hair and watching him adoringly.

Bucky knows Steve’s watching him, just like he knows Steve is smiling. He doesn’t need to see it to know. He can always _feel_ it, and it gets the corners of his own mouth quirking up, just a tad. Somewhere in the back of his head, Bucky knows that he can’t run forever. He might be able to hide from his problems right _now_ , but eventually they’ll find him. They always do.

But for now, he’s safe. Subspace or no subspace, it’s the one thing he never doubts when he’s with Steve. He’s got Steve’s arms and Steve’s scent and Steve’s protective watch wrapping him up and making sure he’ll be okay. That hour, for now, can span a lifetime in Bucky’s dreams.  

For now, Bucky’s at peace. This is still all his, all _theirs_.

As he drifts out of consciousness, he thinks he can hear Steve’s voice trailing not far behind; ready to take his hand and stay with him, even on the other side.

 _I love you_.

Bucky falls asleep still smiling.

 

 

_I love you more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NEXT CHAPTER: Dance-offs, fun with friends, drinking - and trying to do it all while secretly covered in hickies and wearing an anal plug. Time for prom! Bucky thinks the worst of his troubles will be trying to stop himself from looking over to Steve too much throughout the night. But when Bucky's cornered and forced to confront a terrible ghost from his past, things prove that they can always get a little worse. (Alex Pierce, everyone!)**
> 
> As always, the biggest thank you's in the world go out to my best friend/sounding board for literally everything/savior who never seems to mind when I text her at all hours going "this is all terrible, I'm never writing again" (hahaha): [shanology](shanology.tumblr.com). She's to thank for the a lot of the scene in Steve's living room a la Bucky's buttplug and Steve's reaction, because when I was procrastinating like a boss, she pushed me to continue writing, off my phone from a karaoke bar. I also desperately need to thank [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com), [boopboop](boopboopbi.tumblr.com), and [skinny-steven](skinny-steven.tumblr.com) for their constant and unfathomable support for this story as well. They are also indefinitely generous at letting me fling my writing at them, and - along with Shannon - their love, encouragement, and patience with me is more than half the reason why I ever produce anything, ever xD I am nothing without my friends <3
> 
> Here is some amazing fanart a couple of my talented friends have done for this chapter:
> 
> BY [NOTALLBEES](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/126201731225/if-you-havent-yet-read-after-hours#notes):
> 
> BY [SARGEANTSTUCKBUTTS](http://sargeantstuckbutts.tumblr.com/post/125493260464/honestly-i-am-a-fucking-slut-for-after-hours-bucky):
> 
> Next, as always, literally the visual inspiration for what I picture Bucky looking like in this fic:
> 
> Bearded Steve:
> 
> And of course, some porn images/gifs for your pleasure:
> 
> 1\. Had this submitted into my Tumblr inbox, basically saying, "Steve sucking Bucky's cock in After Hours?" YES.
> 
> 2\. Another image one of my best friends sent me, specifically because it reminded them of this chapter. Again, fUCK YES.
> 
> 3\. This image is LITERALLY this chapter, though... Kill my ass.
> 
> 4\. If you don't think this looks like Bucky jerking himself off, then you are wrong
> 
> 5\. *dying whale noises*
> 
> 6\. I am personally in total love with this gif
> 
> 7\. Tayte Hanson is always just an automatic "yeah this bears a resemblance to Bucky and it's hot af" go-to


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between a great night with friends, good food, and dancing for Steve, prom's turning out to be a whole lot better than Bucky could've ever expected. That is, until he's confronted with a certain someone from his past...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've already done this TWICE (with the last two chapters), but for one more time, there has been an additional chapter added to the total chapter count of this fic. That's because this chapter was running near 65k words, and there was no way in hell I was going to make you guys have to deal with _that_ lol
> 
> **What that means: You will be getting TWO chapters this week, which will conclude Bucky's POV in this story. Here is the first one. The other - which will be approximately the same size in length - will be uploaded tomorrow or Wednesday. :)**
> 
> ***WARNING IN THIS CHAPTER: There is some pretty heavy slut-shaming done by Alex Pierce, near the very end of the chapter. It is obviously depicted in a negative way and does not reflect the views of any of character in this fic, or myself (obviously, but I just had to make that clear). If this is a squick/trigger for you, please skip from the line "Yeah, that’s what I thought. I suppose that makes sense, doesn’t it?..." and pick back up right at the very end, at the line "SHUT UP!"***
> 
> A big thanks goes out to my best friends, [shanology](shanology.tumblr.com), [thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com](thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com), and [skinny.steven](skinny.steven.tumblr.com) for reading through a lot of this and helping to pump me up, or alleviate any worries/fears I had, etc. I also owe Shannon the world for being on my ass last week and pushing me to stay on top of my writing every day. A fair chunk of this chapter is all thanks to her being the discipline that I lack lmao In addition, I also have to thank two other best friends, [stephrc79](stephrc79.tumblr.com) for blackmailing me into getting this chapter up (almost) on time ;) <3 Looks like I still have a couch to sleep on when I visit New York in October, HUZZAH! :P And finally, to my dear [boopboop](boopboopbi.tumblr.com) for reminding me that splitting up the chapter - even at my reluctance - was not only still an option, but the best one for me and my readers. Thanks to you all! I really do have the greatest friends! <3
> 
> As always, my [Tumblr](ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com) is usually a hotbed of indecency, Marvel, Stucky, other Marvel pairings, oggling over Chris Evans's supertitties, and screaming into the void about the eighth wonder of the world that is Sebastian Stan's jawline. If you feel like coming and hanging out with me, please do.
> 
> LASTLY, VISUAL REFERENCES:
> 
> Steve:
> 
> Bucky:
> 
> Hair:
> 
> Dress shirt color:
> 
> Natasha:
> 
> Dress:
> 
> Hair:
> 
> Makeup:
> 
> Alex Pierce (this is actually a photo of James Norton, but he looks incredibly similar to a young Robert Redford, so this is my working - general - visual reference):

Bucky’s not sure if he’s still a little under or not when Steve finally wakes him, or if it’s because he might’ve been in the middle of dreaming when his boyfriend’s feather-light voice in his ear pulls him back to consciousness – either way, he feels disoriented. Groggy. For a moment, he’s unsure of the date and time; even uncertain as to where he is in the first place.

His first instinct is that he’s at home in his own bed, awoken because he’d overslept through his alarm clock and was running late to school. He must’ve been completely exhausted; probably wasn’t even more than a minute or two before he’d passed out in Steve’s arms earlier. These days, it feels like it’s always hours of tossing and turning before Bucky can get any form of sleep. He can’t remember the last time he was out that cold, that quickly.

The downside to that is that now Bucky feels like he could still use another solid six or seven hours of it. Steve spends almost ten minutes gently trying to coax Bucky awake, but his brain keeps protesting, wanting instead to shut back off and lure him once more into warm, relaxing slumber. He’ll come to – partially – for only a few seconds at a time, mumble something incoherently, and then snuggle back up to Steve, out like a light again.

Steve doesn’t grow impatient with him, except he doesn’t back down either. Unlike Bucky, he _does_ unfortunately remember the date and time, and unlike Bucky, he also knows that Bucky really does need to get up if he has any hope of getting to Natasha’s when he said he would. So he keeps Bucky wrapped up against him - Bucky’s face hiding away against the soothing pulse tapping beneath Steve’s neck – but also continues murmuring his name. All the while, the tips of his fingers drag back and forth along the length of Bucky’s spine, pebbling his skin with a light coating of goosebumps.

It feels so _good_ whenever Steve does that that it only makes Bucky want to wake up even less. His insistence to deny Bucky more sleep grows annoying pretty fast. He wants to snap at Steve to knock it off – _just five more minutes_ – but he’s still too sleepy for proper words. So eventually, Bucky inhales deeply through his nose, his dark brows knitting together with frustration, and pulls out of his grasp enough to roll _over_ , like facing away from Steve now would get him to stop.

Fatigue still has his brain all fuzzy, cutting off all feeling in his body from the neck down. It’s still heavy and somehow made of air at the same time, and the mattress is so _soft_ , and he’s just so fucking comfy… He’s still not fully awake, still not concerned as to where he is or why. But the mattress dips behind him, Steve shuffling and closing the small gap between them. Undeterred and trying to remain the responsible one, Steve picks up right where he left off, sending more words drifting back towards his ear, tickling him from the inside – _Baby… Baby, it’s time to wake up, sweetheart_.

The longer Steve talks, the more Bucky finds himself rising back to the surface and recognizing the voice; puzzle pieces of what just _was_ and what’s to _come_ beginning to slot themselves back together in the mess going on up in Bucky’s scattered brain.

Steve molds himself to Bucky’s back, lips finding their way to the thin stretch of skin just below his hairline, right above the leather of his collar. In between kisses, he’ll hover just behind the shell of Bucky’s ear and whisper again, “Buck… It’s time to get up, baby…”

Finally, he’s succeeded. Bucky gives the tiniest jolt against him, followed immediately by a lethargic, displeased hum in his throat. Refusing to open his eyes, he shakes his head and mumbles back, “Mm-mm. Not yet.”

He’d never deny that he can be a bit of stubborn shit sometimes.

“Sweetheart,” Steve continues patiently, “you gotta get up.”

“But I’m tired.”

Steve actually does sound regretful – like Bucky having to get up is somehow _his_ fault – when he pecks his lips off the back of Bucky’s jaw and tells him, “I’m sorry, baby. I know you don’t wanna get up. But you said you had to leave by four-thirty to go grab Natasha, and it’s almost quarter after. I thought maybe you’d wanna grab a quick shower before heading out. Maybe it could help wake you up a bit.”

Bucky continues to pout, the gears in his head still oiling up and doing their best to start spinning so he can think properly. He remembers that it’s Saturday and that he’s obviously at Steve’s, though _why_ he had to leave to get Natasha he can’t quite remember. He remembers that lingering sensation of dread in the pit of his belly – the one he’s been dealing with for days now – but he can’t quite recall what it’d been about. He wonders again if he might still be locked in at all for him to not remember any of this; how he’s supposed to _know_ something like that without any point of reference.

But then Steve shuffles just the slightest bit, so he can hold Bucky tighter to him and gingerly repeat his name. It’s completely innocent, but it gets his hips brushing against Bucky’s ass and _oh_ …

Bucky jolts with a surprised little mewl. He can feel the rest of his body again, the more time that drains away and pulls Bucky back into the room. He’d forgotten that he fell asleep with Steve’s plug inside of him; that he’s been ordered to wear it all night. There’s still that deep-seated pressure, that one where he feels like he’s stuffed all the way to the gut. His body’s had time to adjust, though, and it’s with both relief and disappointment that he notes how the stretch neither burns nor aches. It _does_ still feel amazing, though.

And it makes Bucky want to get out of bed even less.

Because _right_ , he has to wear this all night because he’s going to _prom_. He has to get up and go pick up Natasha because they’re going to _prom_. He’s been stressed as fuck lately because of _prom_. Prom and college. Losing Steve. Losing his friends. Right. He remembers now. And now that he has, he really would’ve rather he didn’t.

It’s impossible not to feel anxious all over again. Truth be told, he really doesn’t fucking want to go tonight. But it’s confusing, and he doesn’t know how to explain it – because he also does. It’s bittersweet at best. Time with his best friends is going to be in shorter and shorter supply come the end of the summer, once they have to head out into the ‘real world’ and life pulls them in different directions. It won’t be as simple as texting everyone up and saying _let’s meet at Clint’s,_ or _anyone wanna see a movie tonight?_

Bucky wishes he hadn’t taken all those years of simplicity for granted. Childhood, high school – things that all felt overwhelming at the time but were more than likely the easiest years he’d ever face in life. More than anything, he wants the _now_ to be frozen. Just right now, the way everything’s been in the last seven months, so he can continue living but never have to worry about actually moving _forward._

But life fucking sucks, and he knows that’s not an option. There’s no choice but to move forward, and prom is one of those cornerstones he’s scared to face, if only because of what it represents… What’s bound to follow not long after…

Steve startles at the unexpected reaction, perhaps having forgotten himself about how sensitive Bucky’s backside currently is. Quickly moving his hips back in response, he murmurs, “Sorry, I’m sorry. Did that hurt you?”

Bucky still isn’t opening his eyes. With a small shake of the head, his face pinches up. Taking a breath, he forces the urge to cry for the billionth time that day back down, instead only answering, quiet, “No. Just forgot it was there for a sec.”

He’s still busy getting stuck back up in his head again, and it feels just as unfair as it did earlier – only now he’s even _more_ frustrated, because he thought everything they’d done earlier was supposed to have _helped._ Like, it did, don’t get him wrong – but only so much as one is helped when a gaping wound is covered by a tourniquet. All it can do is lessen the bleeding, but it’s not a permanent solution.

Bucky had been an idiot. He’d made the mistake of thinking that Steve taking care of him and distracting his mind would somehow be a permanent solution to his problems, even when logically, he knew that wasn’t how it worked. Deep down, he _knows_ the only real solution is communication. He can beg Steve to fuck him stupid every minute of every day between now and his deadline, but that won’t stop his deadline from coming eventually. It _will_ still come and he will have to face it. He can’t run from the decisions he knows he needs to make soon.

The only way he can hope to work through it is by tearing off that tourniquet and letting himself get stitched up right. It’s only a matter of time, but sooner or later, there will be a consequence to face. He needs to talk to Steve. He needs to talk to Natasha. He needs to talk to his other friends, and his parents, and he needs to grow up and own up to his choices. Every second he pushes it off more, the harder it weighs down on his shoulders; the more pressure it’s placing on the wound.

He’s scared to talk to them and he’s scared not to. The real terror lies in thinking that either way, he’s bound to bleed to death.

“Is it uncomfortable at all?” Steve continues, none the wiser. There’s concern he’s trying to mask in his voice. Right now, Bucky doesn’t even have it in him to feel annoyed by the telltale return of Steve’s hesitancy and self-doubts. Instead, he’s struck with the complete opposite feeling.

Sadness. Appreciation. Regret of his own. In that moment, he thinks that it was so stupid of him to get annoyed over something like that in the first place. Steve only ever hesitates because he cares, and Bucky would rather have _that_ than the alternative. It reminds him that there might come a day in the near future where he won't even have that hesitation or those self-doubts anymore. He won’t have the man they come with: the one who constantly touches Bucky like he’s made of gold. The one who looks at him like Bucky alone taught him how to love.

Every moment Bucky ever wasted, no matter how little, he wishes he could redo. Finally opening his eyes, he rolls over – faintly twitching at the thrumming sensation that shivers up the base of his spine as he does – so he can get a look at Steve’s face. He wants to store away every smile Steve’s capable of wearing so when he’s no longer there, Bucky can pull them out at night and admire them just one more time. He wants to count Steve’s eyelashes, and memorize the exact hue of his irises, so when he pictures his face in his dreams one day, the man looking back at him will be as close as he could possibly be to the real thing.

An inadequate substitute, but if that’s what’s to happen, he’ll take whatever he can get.

He just doesn’t want to forget how this – this moment, this _so very real thing between them_ – feels. He doesn’t want to turn around twenty years from now and realize he’s forgotten that hue, or that number of eyelashes, or that smile. He just… He loves Steve Rogers, and right now, that’s the only thing Bucky wants to matter.

So he keeps staring straight into Steve’s eyes; takes in how beautiful this man in front of him is when the sight of Bucky’s face gets his lips turning up like he was made of sunshine. Steve lifts his hand and uses the tips of his fingers to comb into Bucky’s hair, uses his thumb to brush the line of Bucky’s cheekbone. Bucky keeps staring, and he says, “Steve, I…” but decides that now isn’t the time.

So _I need to talk to you_ becomes _I love you_ , and those are the words Bucky chooses. Replacing a temporary truth with an eternal one, and Bucky thinks that right now, that’s okay. He just needs it for a little bit longer.

Steve blinks, looking as though he honestly wasn’t expecting that as an answer. Smile warming, he roams Bucky’s face from top to bottom before meeting his eyes again and saying, “I love you, too. What was that for?”

Exhaling softly through his nose, Bucky closes his eyes. When he reopens them, he does his best to pair his gaze with a hint of a lopsided smile of his own. “I need a reason to tell you I love you?” 

The words are lacking their usual liveliness and Steve notices of course. Maybe he thinks Bucky’s still in the middle of waking up. Bucky tries to sell his façade by straining his smile and adding in a much more convincing tone, “Stevie, I’m fine. I’d tell you if I wasn’t. I just… You think maybe you can tell me again?”

“That I love you?”

Bucky nods, whispering, “Yeah.”

Steve’s smile doesn’t falter, but he looks like he’s trying to search into Bucky and figure out what’s going on. Bucky’s not naïve; he knows _Steve_ knows something’s wrong and that Bucky just won’t tell him what yet. He admitted as much earlier. Bucky also knows that Steve’s probably fighting real hard not to let his worry about it show; fighting just as hard not to press the matter and offer yet again to talk about it if Bucky wants to.

So when Steve nods and says, “I’ll tell you every day for the rest of our lives, as many times as you want: I love you, Bucky Barnes. I love you so much,” Bucky knows this is Steve’s way of telling him, _I want to ask but I’ll wait as long as you want me to._

When Bucky nods to himself and promises Steve back, “I love you, too,” it’s because he means _please never forget that._

Steve doesn’t seem completely convinced that his work there is done. “You doing okay from earlier?” he asks protectively, reminding Bucky of just how much they’d both tested themselves only a couple hours before; how sweet it had been and how much Bucky’s already dying for another taste. “You still under at all, you think? Is that why you need to hear it? If you still think you’re locked in, then don’t worry about the time, babe. I’m here however long you need me, okay?”

“Steve, m’fine,” Bucky insists, gentle. Leaning in, he pecks his lips, trying to convince him. “I just love you and wanted to hear it. I don’t think I’m locked in anymore anyways; probably just need to wake up a bit more still.”

“Okay,” Steve murmurs with a nod. They do nothing but look at each other for a short silence, Steve tracing the apple of Bucky’s cheek until Bucky thinks he can feel the design of Steve’s fingerprint. “You doing… alright from earlier? I mean, any better at all?” Steve asks tentatively. That’s about as close to testing the waters as Steve will probably get for now.

Bucky doesn’t want him to worry. If their time together might be limited, then he wants their final memories together to be nothing but happy ones. Even if he’s crumpling on the inside, he just wants to save as many of Steve’s smiles for himself as possibly can. He wants to take so many that even after him, and after Steve is gone, no one will ever be able to get as many again. They will be Bucky’s, even if Bucky isn’t with him anymore.

And he _knows_ that’s selfish, he knows it is. He just doesn’t care. Not right now.

“Yeah, I am,” Bucky lies. This time, it sounds believable. “Thank you, Stevie. And… you? You okay from earlier?”

Kissing the tip of his nose, Steve tells him, “Yeah Buck. It was perfect. Don’t worry about _me_ , though – you’re the one who went… you know. I just wanna make sure you’re doing alright now.”

“I’m not crashing, baby, don’t worry.”

Actually hearing Bucky say it seems to relieve Steve of a lot of tension. “Okay. Okay, good. I just want you to feel good, sweetheart. Maybe sometime next week we can talk a little more about it.”

Bucky nods, but as he pushes himself up to extend his arms and stretch himself out, he still asks over a yawn, “Talk abou’ wha’?” Moving his body like that – sitting up and forcing his weight down on his plug – causes a lick of pleasure to swirl from his stretched hole straight to his toes. His yawn masks the slight moan that uncontrollably escapes him, the same time as those toes curl on instinct.

The second thing it does is remind him of _another_ thing he’d momentarily forgotten: that he’s still adorned from the collars to his kneecaps with hickeys. Pushing himself up as well, Steve shrugs one shoulder, his stare drifting to the mess covering his back. “I dunno. Nothing bad or anything like that,” he answers, voice deepening with satisfaction.

Bucky wishes he had the time to preen under his gaze, but he knows exactly where that’d head. Sadly, that’s really not an option this time. He has to settle for Steve brushing his fingers across a few of the bruises, tender but possessive, like he’s fighting the urge to press into them and make the sting nice and fresh for Bucky’s pleasure.

Steve continues, slightly distracted now, “I was just thinking maybe we should do some more reading into it, y’know? So we’re more prepared for if it ever happens again.”

“ _If?_ ” Bucky repeats, pouncing on Steve’s choice of words instantly as he glances back to him from over his shoulder.

It takes a second for their earlier conversation to come back to Steve, but then he grins – suggestive and sexy and _fuck, now is not the time, Bucky hates what Steve does to him as much as he loves it_ – and takes Bucky’s face in his hands. “I meant _when_ ,” he corrects himself, leaning in and stealing a kiss.

“Nice save,” Bucky mumbles against his mouth, but he lets himself be kissed all the same.

Steve’s certainty about their future is exactly what he wants to hear and everything that _hurts_ to. But he wants things between them to be as happy as they can be, so if it goes south soon, Bucky will be left with only the best of memories. He tells himself that he can pretend for just a bit longer; anything to make the most of this while it lasts.

“C’mon,” Steve eventually says no more than a half minute later, climbing out of bed and holding out his hand for Bucky to take. “A quick shower will pep you up. You got a few more minutes to spare.”

Bucky’s got eternity to spare for Steve. He wishes he could make good on that. Instead Bucky takes his hand, crawling out of bed and heading into the bathroom, having to trade an eternity and settle for five extra minutes in the shower together. Because they really _don’t_ have the time to get caught up in temptation like they usually do, Steve tries not to tease Bucky too much about how every other step has Bucky inhaling sharp through his nose and swiping his tongue across his mouth; how his cock is half hard and will probably be that way all night thanks to the plug.

Because they really _don’t_ have the time, Bucky wants to put up a fight but ultimately doesn’t, when he asks Steve if he can keep his collar on in the shower and Steve regretfully tells him no. Bucky stares at himself in the mirror – momentarily shocked when he actually gets his first proper _look_ at all those bruises stamped across his body, blues and reds and purple; bite marks chewed into him, like Steve were an animal – and feels a flood of loss when that pressure around his throat finally lets up and Steve undoes the buckle against his nape.

The air feels cold against the strip of his skin no longer protected safe and snug by his collar. Bucky blinks fast to make the sudden tears disappear, and Steve doesn’t notice them. Instead, he palms Bucky’s shoulders and Bucky watches him from the mirror; how Steve closes his eyes and ducks in, mouthing at Bucky’s neck as if to make up for its absence. Bucky doesn’t look away, even while Steve’s eyes are closed.

He never wants to forget how this feels. It’s good enough, too. Collar or no collar, at the end of the day that isn’t the point.

As long as he’s with Steve, it doesn’t matter what Bucky’s wearing or what he’s not. For now, for as long as the universe will be kind to Bucky and let it last, Bucky is Steve’s either way. Much as the symbolism comforts him, Bucky doesn’t _need_ the collar to know that.

So he doesn’t dwell on it. He takes Steve’s hand and lets the older man walk them into the shower. He lets Steve turn on the water, and Bucky doesn’t even flinch when the stream – what pelts down on their bodies – is cooler than he was expecting. Refreshing; definitely helps wake him up that little extra push he needed. It’s nice.

_Nice..._

Bucky will remember that, remember how _nice_ truly felt when he still knew the meaning of the word. He walks straight against Steve’s chest and wraps his arms around him. Holding them together, Bucky turns his face enough to rest his chin on Steve’s shoulder and his temple to his cheek.

Steve doesn’t ask questions. Slipping his hands around Bucky’s slim waist, he holds on just as tight and lets Bucky drink in this moment. They’re only able to be in there for a few minutes, but they spend every last second of them standing beneath the spray of the water, hugging each other as if they never would again.

Bucky will do his best to keep pretending, because he’s selfish and he wants Steve’s smiles – but he hates how _real_ that possibility still feels.

* * *

“I’m not coming out.” 

“Oh yes you are,” Bucky calls back for about the fourth time, eyes down as he works to roll the sleeves of his dress shirt up his forearms.

“Nope, sorry. Tell them I got sick or something. Make something up.”

They’d _almost_ been late getting back to Bucky’s in time, but lucky for him, every traffic light seemed to be on their side today. It proved to be necessary, too, since Natasha decided she wasn’t going to get into her dress until she was actually _at_ Bucky’s place – and no more than ten minutes after disappearing into the washroom, she’d announced her sudden plan to forego prom altogether.

They’ve been doing this back and forth dance of _yes you are, no I’m not_ for the last half hour.

The only thing stopping him from not only _letting_ her play hooky, but making an alliance with her and doing the exact same thing is that ultimately, Bucky knows she’s going to go. He also knows that if there had been any window of opportunity for _him_ not to go, he missed it once he’d left Steve’s. Either way, Steve’s made the commitment to be there. Either way, Bucky’s other friends will be there. Either way, the limo _will_ be showing up soon with some of the gang already piled inside, and _either way_ , Bucky’s resigned with himself that he’s _going_ to do this and he’s going to enjoy it as best he can.

Natasha’s just being a pain in the ass. They both have themselves a wicked stubborn streak, which means that when they scheme together, there’s no stopping them – but when they don’t see eye to eye, they quarrel like an old married couple. Truth be told, Bucky had sort of expected this would happen. She doesn’t _do_ dances, which really, is exactly what prom is: a fancy dance with some poorly cooked dinner thrown in and a sappy PowerPoint photo album of memories so people will feel nostalgic and cry.

The last time they’d gone to a dance was at the end of junior high – after almost an _hour_ of the two of them bickering _and_ Bucky having to climb out onto the roof after Natasha thought that if she hid her dress up there, he’d never find it. He did, of course, much to her grumbling afterwards. Because her parents had bought it for her as a gift, she wore it out of obligation. Bucky and Clint took turns letting her borrow their coats for the night so she felt more comfortable.

By extension, Natasha also doesn’t do _dresses_ unless she absolutely has to. To some degree, that’s always baffled Bucky because frankly, she rocks them better than anyone he’s ever seen. But he also gets it, for that exact same reason. No one fucks with Natasha Romanoff, but that’s never stopped people from staring.

There’s no other way to put it: she’s gorgeous. Bucky remembers her being one of the first girls in their sixth grade class to hit puberty, going from flat-chested to needing a bra seemingly overnight. Other girls were jealous; the boys, having just hit that age where boobs seemed like the single coolest thing in the world, while still making them giggle if they tried talking about them out loud. There were definitely more than a _few_ Natasha wound up beating up that year, let’s just put it that way.

Since then, she’s always remained petite but incredibly curvy, and people _stare_. Even seven years later, it’s never any less disgusting. Bucky thinks he hates it almost as much – if not _as_ much – as she does. Guys who would sooner shit themselves than look her in the eye and open their mouths still seem to have no problem ogling unabashedly at her _breasts_ whenever she walks by.

These days, Natasha doesn’t really give it nearly as much of her time or efforts. If anything, it’s Bucky who seems to notice the gawking more than she does. And if it starts to piss him off, she’ll just keep walking, roll her eyes, and then shoot whoever’s staring _that_ _look_ she’s mastered; the one that gets the idiot remembering his shit for brains and scampering away before they wind up with a black eye or bloody nose. Natasha can say with that one look what Bucky would need a whole dictionary at his disposal to convey with proper words.

She’s always been self-assured and confident in who she is, which is why she’s rarely ever let the unwanted attention actually get to her beyond simple annoyance. It’s not like she’s arrogant or parades around as if she _knows_ she’s hot shit – frankly, Bucky’s known her long enough to know that she, like everyone else, _does_ in fact have insecurities. She’s just comfortable in her skin and has never really given a damn about fussing over her appearance like most other kids their age.

She wears whatever she wants, walks with her eyes forward and her head held high, and apologizes to no one. Bucky has always loved that about her. But all that to be said, she prefers clothing that, while still flattering, doesn’t tend to show all that much skin very often. Their group of friends is the obvious exception. With the people she’s comfortable around – the ones who have both earned and kept her trust – it’s different. With the rest of the world, it’s really only when she’s in her leotard and losing herself in one of her routines that she’ll let her guard down for anyone else who might be watching.

She’s always been one of those people who’s naturally beautiful, but it’s really only on rare occasions that she goes out of her way to purposely try to be _sexy_. Bucky gets it; just because she doesn’t let it get to her whenever people stare, doesn’t mean she likes it either. When so many people sum you up as nothing but a body, it can make you only want to fight harder to show the world literally _anything_ else.

So dresses fall into that category of things Natasha rarely wears, namely because – in Bucky’s humble opinion – she could probably put on a _muumuu_ and pull it off. Anything more flattering than that and she stands out like a sore thumb, getting all the sort of attention she doesn’t like or want.

Which is why in situations like this, Bucky knows better than anyone else how conflicted dressing up makes her. She’s human just like anyone else; she likes to feel beautiful, too. But in this particular instance, Natasha would probably opt for the muumuu if she could. In reality, her dress – from what he remembers – is far tamer than the shit he’s willing to bet they’ll see some of the people they know wearing. Still, though. Natasha’s very big on principle, which is what always makes this such a struggle.

“Please, we _both_ know you’re the real mastermind out of the two of us,” he jokes. Walking over to the closed door, Bucky leans against the wall and raps at it lightly with the back of his knuckles. “Natasha, you don’t come out and you’ll leave me no choice but to come _in_ ,” he warns, playfully harmless.

He’ll make good on his threat if he has to, though – even though he still doesn’t even have his pants on yet. Not like that’d be anything new to her. She’s probably slept in a bed with him more than anyone else on the planet – Steve included – and typically, Bucky sleeps in nothing but his boxer briefs.

And even though Natasha knows him well enough to know that he really _will_ do it, through the door he still hears her shoot back defiantly, “Try me, Barnes.”

Placing his hand on his hip, he continues in this game they’re so used to with each other. She’s not the only one who’s an expert at not backing down.

“Nataaasha,” he sing-songs sweetly. There’s no response, so Bucky’s smile softens and he gently knocks on the door again. “C’mon, don’t start the silent treatment. I’ve already seen what you look like, remember? You look smokin’, I know it. You’re gonna break some hearts.”

“You’re not helping,” she huffs.

“Just pretend this is for one of your recitals,” he tries. “You never got no problem dressin’ up then.”

The door abruptly opens, but only a crack. Bucky leans that inch forward so they can be face to face. Her hair and make up’s done up all nice, but she’s purposely shielding the rest of her body behind the door. Arching a brow, her tone is calm but frank when she counters, “This is nothing like that and you know it.”

“You do this every time and _you_ know it.”

She hisses, “I only got this stupid dress because you practically begged me.”

Bucky scoffs. “Correction: I told you had to buy the dress and _you_ bought the dress. I don’t remember putting a gun to your head and forcin’ ya,” he reminds her. “Jesus, and you call _me_ dramatic.”

It hadn’t even been _that_ much of a struggle, actually. Not even Natasha could deny how flattering she’d looked when she stepped out of the change room. Despite her general dislike for dresses, she’s never been susceptible to peer pressure. Bucky could’ve tried his best to convince her until he was blue in the face, but if Natasha really hadn’t wanted it, she wouldn’t have gotten it. Period.

The fact that she actually _had_ bought the dress just proved that he was right: she looked awesome in it and she, like him, knew that. Even if she wouldn’t admit it.

Her expression doesn’t change, still regarding him like she has absolutely no plans to budge on the matter. Bucky sighs. They’re running out of time before the limo’s due to show up, and they can’t keep doing this that much longer. “Look,” he compromises, “if you don’t wanna wear it, then get out of it and we can both go in jeans. Okay? But we _are_ going. After all this? We’re going – even if I have to carry ya over my shoulder.”

His empty threat lingers in the air between them and for a moment, all they do is look at each other. Natasha cracks first, pursing her lips as they turn up at the corners, like she’s fighting to keep from laughing. She shakes her head with a mock sigh, making Bucky follow suit with a grin.

“ _So_ ,” he presses, feigning seriousness again, “am I gonna need to come in there?”

She re-meets his eyes, still fighting – and failing – to let the extent of her smile win. “The things I do for you,” she says, relenting.

Now it’s Bucky turn to roll his eyes. “Oh, the _hardship_ ,” he deadpans, “you got it so rough.”

Opening up the door enough to stick out her hand and playfully shove Bucky away, she tilts her chin up and says, “Put on some pants, perv,” before closing the door.

Bucky exhales, smiling a little to himself as he heads back over to his bed to pick up his dress pants. For a moment, he holds them in his hands, staring down at them but not making to put them on just yet. This brief chance by himself, he can be reminded of the stretch between his legs and appreciate it. It feels dirty – _has_ felt that way since he first left Steve’s place to meet up with Nat – to be keeping his and Steve’s little secret from everyone, including her.

Admittedly, even with everything else going on, it’s still fucking hot.

Of course, there’d been no way to hide the hickeys from her once they were in his room and he pulled off his shirt without thinking. She had been so blind-sighted and so amused that she’d pretty much demanded he strip down to his underwear and spin in a slow circle so she could see _just_ how covered he was. Maybe it was a little morbid, but even when she laughed and called him ridiculous, Bucky couldn’t help but feel _proud_ while he showed them off – so proud, in fact, that he almost blurted out his little secret while they were at it, too.

But his self-control won and he was able to bite it down. Not because that would’ve been TMI or anything; Natasha knows plenty of details about Bucky’s past sexcapades, and he knows plenty about hers. It just feels sneakier – _better_ – when it’s only Steve and him that know. It means Bucky’s had to pretend this entire time that he’s _not_ constantly three seconds away from his eyes flitting up into his head with a moan. That he’s not been gaping this entire time and crammed so full; his rim wet with lube, hot and burning and fluttering, and his insides filled with Steve’s come.

It’s comforting, feeling like he has Steve with him like that, but it’s also erotic as fuck; makes it so much more goddamn fun that everyone will look at him but no one will have a clue.

As he finally _does_ slip into his pants and slides them up his legs, he remembers the look on Steve’s face after they’d gotten out of their shower a couple hours before. They couldn’t fool around again and they both knew it. But Steve just couldn’t help himself, and when Bucky casually pulled off his towel so he could go get dressed, Steve instead stopped him and had asked if Bucky could hold still for _just a couple seconds_. His gaze was already following Bucky’s ass, and Bucky knew what he wanted to see. There was no way in hell he could resist.

So he’d leaned his weight onto his hands – splayed flat on the bathroom counter – and closed his eyes, spreading his legs so Steve could see his asshole properly. _That_ was what Steve wanted: just one more look before he had to cover it up. Bucky wanted it, too. Standing in his own room now, Bucky replays in his head the sound of that delicious, feral groan the sight of him had elicited out of Steve. It’d taken them everything they possibly had to get into their clothes afterwards, and _not_ give into the urge to simply yank the plug out and replace it with Steve’s cock (which would’ve been _so, so easy_ ).

Tucking his shirt into the waistline, Bucky finishes fastening up his belt when he hears the bathroom door open from behind him. When he glances over his shoulder, all of those thoughts fly away; the sight of Natasha standing there leaving him momentarily stunned. Facing her properly, he looks her up and down with an opened-mouth grin.

The dress is even better than he remembers, probably because now she’s got her hair and makeup to complete the look. Their compromise on the whole thing was that Natasha would _only_ wear one to prom if it was black, so from top to bottom, it is. Actually, as she’d originally pointed out, it’s a two-piece; a top and high-waisted skirt. The thin strip of skin separating the two is so tiny that you’d almost miss it.

But Bucky’s technically nothing close to a fashion expert, either. So to him, it’s a dress, because that’s not complicated – although the whole ‘ _but you said it yourself: it ain’t even technically a dress, Nat_ ’ might’ve helped his selling pitch back when they’d first seen it.

Her hair – which she’d actually gone out of her way to curl into loose ringlets – is all pinned to one side, draping over her right shoulder. Her usual smoky eyeshadow has been replaced with something simpler and elegant, but she’s also paired it with a dark crimson lipstick that still gives her her usual _pop._ She’s finished off the whole thing with a pair of low heels that strap up around her ankles, similar shade as her hair. Bucky whistles, the tail end dropping in pitch until it tapers off.

“Wow,” he muses, “like, hot damn… You look like a fuckin’ movie star, Nat.”  

She pretends that the touched little blush on her cheeks is nothing more than her makeup. Rolling her green eyes again with a little smile, she shakes her head and relents, admitting, “I suppose it’s not _terrible_.”

“No seriously, you look incredible,” Bucky insists, softer, more sincere. “But if you still wanna change, the offer’s on the table. We’ll have to make it fast, though.”

When Natasha glances back over to him from the corner of her eye, the look she gives him tells Bucky that she has absolutely no intention of doing that. She’s just too proud to admit that _one_ , Bucky was totally right, and _two_ , part of her _does_ feel beautiful wearing it. With an encouraging smile, Bucky holds up his pointer finger and says, “Alright _well_ , if you’re not gonna change, then there’s just _one_ more thing you need.”

He goes over to his dresser, sliding open the top right drawer. He pulls out the box holding the corsage he’d ordered for her. Luckily, even with how out of it he’s been lately, he’d still had enough mind to remember to drop by the floral shop and pick it up on his way home from school the day before. The fabric to tie around her wrist is black; the flower itself, a singular red rose. It’s simple, but he thinks he did alright. It’ll suit her, and that’s what matters.

At the sight of it, Natasha grins, exhaling a quiet laugh. “You did _not_ get me a corsage.”

“I totally did,” Bucky chuckles back, pulling off the lid so he can get it out. Dropping the empty box on his bed, he walks over to her. “It was my mom’s idea, for the record. Gimme your wrist.”

With a coy smirk, she arches her eyebrow again but does as she’s told. As Bucky fastens it around her wrist, she murmurs, “Careful, Barnes – any more cutesy gestures from you and I’m gonna start wondering what your _real_ intentions are.”

Bucky snorts under his breath, finishing doing it up. Natasha gets weird whenever sentiment happens – namely, if she’s on the receiving end of it. The second things get mushy, she’ll find a way to turn it into a joke. It’s a harmless defense mechanism, but it’s also one of her greatest tells, too. Bucky knows she’s touched by his gesture, corny as it may be.

“There,” he says, letting her wrist go so she can get a look at it. He keeps his eyes on her face to gauge her reaction. She actually smiles, even if slightly embarrassed by the whole thing.

“So does this make you my date?” she asks.

Bucky nods. “Thought it was only fitting. We _did_ say we’d go together one day.”

“Yeah, back in the _second_ grade,” she laughs. But her smile simmers down, her appreciation evident in her eyes as they look at each other for a few seconds. With a small nod, she adds, “I’d love to. You big dork.”

Bucky isn’t sure why everything about this moment is making him feel so sappy. For a moment, it’s like he’s looking at this girl and seeing the face of the sprightly little redhead from daycare instead. Without warning, he’s overwhelmed with nostalgia. There are too many memories they’ve shared, but he can remember them all in perfect detail. They’ve been through so much together. Same with them and Clint. Them and all their best friends – extensions of each other, rather than separate people.

But Natasha is particularly special. She always has been; the yin to Bucky’s yang, the peanut butter to his jelly – and every other cliché he can possibly think of. The idea of being across the country from her and learning how to live life _without_ being able to see her all the time is such a hard concept to wrap his head around, it almost feels impossible. Aside from Steve, she’s the one he’s dreaded talking to about UCLA the most. He knows that stupid nightmare a few days ago didn’t help his paranoia, but… like with Steve, the thought of their friendship getting ruined or not being the same anymore destroys him.

He wants to tell Natasha that he loves her, but even with how close they’ve always been, that’s never really been something they’d _say_ to each other. They make it known in their own ways, and those ways are good enough. So instead, Bucky looks around his room with a deep breath and says, “As if we’re about to go to prom.”

“I know…”

“We’re gettin’ old,” he jokes, looking back to her. He smiles, and so does she. She knows what he’s saying – at least, the only things that matter. Those are the only things Bucky wants her to hear right now.

She agrees, “Not children anymore.”

“You know…” Bucky says slowly, genuinely, “of everyone in the whole wide world, I think I’m happiest that _you’re_ my date. I don’t think I’d survive it otherwise. Thank you.”

Her smile grows again, but she shrugs and points out, “Well, you’re welcome. I’m sure I can think of _one_ other person, but… there are worse people I could imagine going with.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Mm-mm. No. Even Steve. I mean, yeah, I wish we could – it doesn’t matter. I’m serious, though, I can’t think of a better date.”

“If I hug you, will you stop being so schmoozy right now? Seriously James, you’re going to give me a cavity if you keep talking.”

Bucky laughs, already closing the short space between them to wrap her up in a hug. “Oh fuck off,” he replies affectionately, and she slips her arms around his back and returns the embrace. For a few seconds, it’s sweet between them; conveying what they both feel without having to actually say it.

And then Bucky ruins it by saying, “Wait a second, what the fuck’s _that_ supposed to mean: ‘ _there are worse people I could imagine going with_ ’?”

Natasha laughs and shoves him away, and together they finish grabbing their things so they can head downstairs, where his mom will undoubtedly be waiting with her camera to take ten million photos.

* * *

Bucky’s face hurts by the time their friends finally show up. He’s willing to bet it was _Quill’s_ idea that the chauffeur start honking the horn, but at least it provides them with an excuse to stop smiling so much. 

Not that Bucky necessarily _minded_ , really; he knows he and Natasha look killer, especially side by side. His cheeks are just sore because he’d been damn near splitting his sides laughing; because by about the thirtieth photo, he and Natasha had started feeling a little like mannequins. The pictures were turning out fine, but it was too rehearsed and stiff. So they decided to spice things up and bust out their silliest faces, paired with equally as silly poses.

At first Winifred was giggling, but simultaneously begging them to stop so she could get a few more ‘nice’ shots. They ignored her plea and started to think up classic poses from movies that they could do instead. When they were in the middle of shouting, “I’M FLYING, JACK!” over each other on the stairwell, Rebecca skipped in from the living room, deciding that watching her big brother acting like a lunatic was far more entertaining than whatever was on TV.

By the time they were trying to replicate the lift from _Dirty Dancing,_ his mother was practically crying from laughing so hard, and George had to be the one to take the photos. ‘Nice’ poses were forgotten about, and suddenly _everyone_ was joining in to try and suggest more hilarious movie poses they could replicate for the camera.

It _was_ fun, and admittedly, also the first time in over a week that Bucky can remember having laughed so much and smiled so honestly; one of those moments where you find yourself content and things feel hopeful again. You can’t remember why things had felt so desolate only minutes before, and for one sweet second, you feel like you have a whole new outlook on life. The future doesn’t seem as bad as it once had and all is right in the world, because things can still feel _good_ like this. You can still smile until your cheeks hurt, and you can mean it.

At the same time, it’s bittersweet in a way – on the one hand, you feel all those positive things, but on the other, it’s also a _reminder_ of why you’d been freaking out in the first place. Because Bucky was there, at _home_ , laughing with his family, laughing with his best friend, and minus not being able to share any of that with Steve, the moment itself was suspended in time and it felt _perfect_. Uncomplicated. Untouched by any of that bad shit; just a slice of one of those happy moments you usually take for granted unless you’re worried that they may be in short supply.

Bucky could look at his parents’ faces and think for a split second that he was still a kid again; back to a time when he believed they’d always be there to look after him and make everything better when things went wrong, for the rest of his life. He could look at Natasha and know he had a whole summer to look forward to where they’d skin their knees and elbows, and race to the top of the slide, and see who could climb the highest tree at the park, and play video games in each other’s rooms until way past when they were _supposed_ to be asleep. His biggest responsibility would be trying to figure out what fun thing he wanted to do with his day. Then the summer would end, and he’d go back to elementary school, and things would still be the same, even if he was just a little bit older.

They’d still be the _same._

And that’s why Bucky is still relieved when they hear the telltale honking from outside, signalling their friends’ arrival. Because his face hurts from smiling so hard, and the second he lets himself stop to think about that, his heart starts to hurt, too. Because things _won’t_ stay the same anymore. They _are_ going to change; he just doesn’t know how to accept that. Bucky doesn’t want to think about that right now, and he’s tired of hurting. He just wants to focus on the present and be distracted; get through the night in one piece and not think about the future. In the _morning_ , he can think about the future. In the morning, he can deal with what’s the come.

But for now, he’s determined to make the most of his prom and have a good time. That’s what Steve wants from him, that’s what his parents and friends want from him, and truthfully, he wants that for himself, too. He’ll keep it together for tonight. He can do that.

When they open up the front door and head outside, they’re surprised to see how many people are already waiting for them. Peter Quill’s sticking up out of the sun roof, pointing at them and singing an impromptu song in falsetto that Bucky can’t make the words out to. The back door is opened up, Clint standing outside of the limo so he can stretch his legs and – from the looks of it – have a quick cigarette; the rest, waiting inside but all crammed near the door so they can greet them and tell them to _hurry their asses up_.

Winifred and George follow Bucky and Natasha outside. Bucky calls over to them all, “What happened to just Clint and Quill pickin’ us up first?”

“Good to see you too, Buck,” Ben deadpans.

Bucky laughs. “Hey guys,” he corrects himself.

“Yo Parker,” says Ben impatiently, leaning back and addressing the _other_ Peter, who hasn’t crowded in with the others yet to greet them. “Is that camera superglued to your hand or something? You gonna come say hello or what?”

“Okay, okay _sorry_ ,” Bucky hears Parker snap back. Then a head of brown hair pops out from behind Kitty, and he smiles with a chuckle, waving at Bucky and Nat. “Hey,” he says. Then he clarifies, “Phillips has me taking pics all night.”

“That’s cool,” Bucky replies.

Quill glances down and then disappears back inside the limo, saying, “You do realize that means I’m totally photobombing as many people as I can tonight.”

A few seconds later, Parker’s glancing over and then practically lunging away again. “Dude, don’t touch the camera, it’s not even mine!” he exclaims, presumably trying to wrangle it from Quill (who Bucky can only imagine was just trying to sneak in a picture of his balls or something).

“Children, are we really fighting already?” Kitty teases.

“It’s for yearbook!” they all hear Parker reply. 

Meanwhile, Stephen Strange waggles his eyebrows and changes the subject by chiming in, “You’re both looking very _dapper_ this evening.”

“You say that like you’re surprised,” Natasha jokes back coolly.

Bucky pretends to pop his collar. “It’s about time one of you noticed.”

After the mini struggle within the limo stops, Quill pops back up through the window in the roof and says, “I’m still stuck on the whole ‘Clint and Quill’ thing! I think it’s got a nice ring to it. Right? Whaddaya say, Barton, you wanna start a boy band?”

Clint, dressed to the nines in a full black tux, pitches his cigarette onto the road before answering Bucky’s initial question that’d still been left hanging in the air: “We left early, so we improvised and stopped by Ben’s first.”

Bucky doesn’t miss how when Clint glances from him to Natasha, for a moment, something akin to _stun_ makes his grin falter as he properly takes in the sight of her. But then it flickers away, and he’s looking back to Bucky to tease, “Took you guys long enough. Did Barnes have to finish putting on his makeup?”

“Only after I finished helping him with his hair,” Natasha answers, heading for the limo so she can say hi to the others.

Bucky shoots the back of her head a flat look, but then catches Clint snickering under his breath. Setting his sights back on him, Bucky challenges, “Oh you wanna go, tough guy? You wanna go?” Walking straight for him, he throws an arm around his neck and wrangles Clint into a loose headlock, faking a punch to his stomach.

They roughhouse for a couple seconds, like they have since they were kids, until Winifred jumps in, scolding them, “Boys! Outfits! You’re wrinkling them all up!”

Promptly pulling apart, they both reply in unison, “Sorry mom.”

Clint chuckles, giving Bucky one more light shove before letting Winifred gather him into a hug. It doesn’t matter _how_ long the two of them have known each other, or _how_ long Bucky’s mom has been like a second mother to Bucky’s friends, when she comments on how handsome Clint looks, the tips of his ears still burn a bright pink, even if doesn’t show on the rest of him. 

She’s always tended to have that effect on Bucky’s male friends. Quill jokes that it’s because, on top of being super kind to all of them, Winifred is ‘hot – like, _mom_ -hot, but still hot for a mom, if you know what I mean’. And even though _no_ , Bucky _doesn’t_ know what that means and he really doesn’t want to, the rest of the guys seem to be in agreement about it. Bucky’s always found that a little weird – who wouldn’t? – but at least it’s also always given him ample ammunition to make fun of them for blushing afterwards.

“Looking good in that monkey suit, Clint,” George jokes with a grin, his way of saying hello.

Clint laughs as he pulls out of Winifred’s embrace, looking down at himself with a nod. “Thanks, sir.”

“His mom picked it out,” Natasha chimes in, making everyone break out into laughter.

Clint’s ears burn again, but he doesn’t look offended. Taking it with stride, he shrugs with a goofy smile and admits to Bucky’s parents, “It’s better than anything I probably would’ve picked out."

Bucky saunters over to the opened door and ducks down to see who’s all inside. Just as they’d discussed, there’s Ben, Kitty, the _other_ Peter, Stephen, and of course, Clint and Quill. With Bucky and Natasha now as well, it looks like they’re all present and accounted for, with no one else that needs picking up. The rest of their friends plan to meet them there. Straightening up again, he glances up to Quill, whose upper body still sticking out through the roof window.

“You plannin’ of sitting down at all, or…?” he asks, amused.

Closing his eyes, Quill grooves some more to whatever tune he’s got playing in his head, nodding fervently. “No way, man. How many times can I say I got to do this? I feel like a celebrity. Like Tom Cruise, ‘cept not crazy. I’m gonna be like that chick from _21 Jump Street_ who was all white girl wasted--” He pitches his voice and dramatically squeals, “‘ _I’m fulfilling my dream of standing in a limooooo!’”_

Winifred looks pointedly at him, placing her hands on her hips. “Still a parent standing right here,” she reminds them playfully, pretending to be stern. “What was that you were saying about ‘white girl wasted’?”

Quill bats his eyelashes, flashing her his cheesiest, most innocent smile. “Nothing, Mrs. Barnes,” he answers sweetly. But then he looks to Bucky, gives an over-exaggerated wink, and finishes it off with a thumb’s up.

Bucky laughs, even though he _does_ actually know that Quill’s probably got his flask hiding away in his inner breast pocket. He’s just being silly, like he usually is, but the funniest part is that it’s still the _truth_. Like most of their classmates, the majority of them have every intention of drinking that night – probably until they’re ‘white girl wasted’, which is why they’re all going to be crashing at the same place afterwards.

It’s not like Bucky’s parents are stupid: they know this full well, and it’s not like they were expecting otherwise from them. They know their son well enough to know that he and his friends may do irresponsible, teenage things, but they still try to be as _responsible_ as they can when doing them.

All the same, just to play along, Winifred purses her lips into a smirk and raises an eyebrow, countering, “You want me to call your grandfather, Peter?” 

With a fake gasp, Quill lifts his hands in surrender, eyes widening. Without saying another word, he lowers back down through the window and disappears into the limo. Natasha heads in, too, Clint following behind her, until it’s just Bucky left standing outside. He and Winifred look to each other at the same time, sharing a smile.

Tipping his head, he says, “We should probably go…”

Her own smile is bordering on emotional; like, for her own reasons, she’s feeling a little nostalgic herself. Bucky wonders if this is one of those times where she and his dad look at him and wonder when exactly he’d become so grown up. She nods, opening her arms and stepping towards him, replying, “Okay, sweetie. C’mere.” 

She gives him a hug. Over her shoulder, Bucky meets George’s eyes and shares a smile with him next. “You kids have fun,” George tells him.

“We will.”

“And be _safe_ ,” Winifred can’t help but add, squeezing him a bit tighter.

Bucky chuckles quietly. “We will,” he repeats.

“…Are you _sure_ I can’t take just a few more pictures?”

“Aw, _mom_ ,” Bucky groans, “we gotta _go_.”

“Honey, let them get going,” George lightly chimes in, coming to Bucky’s aid. “We don’t want prom starting _without_ them, now.”

Reluctantly, Winifred huffs softly and then relents, saying, “Fine, _fine_. Sorry, sweetie.” Pulling back, she cups Bucky’s face and gives him one more look before forcing herself to let go. Bucky does his best to ignore the way that makes him feel. “Go, go on,” she continues, smiling again encouragingly, “or else I’m _going_ to grab the camera again.”

Bucky nods, bending down to slide into the backseat where they’ve made room for him. The window’s down, so Winifred waves to them all – even though they haven’t even moved yet – and says to Bucky, “Love you, sweetie.”

Some of the guys start snickering. Not missing a beat, Quill leans forward so he can place a hand on Bucky’s knee, look him dead in the eye, and emphatically tell him, “And I love you _too_ , sweetie.”

Bucky knocks his hand away and quickly flips him off with a grin, the others starting to laugh and join in on the teasing. Slightly embarrassed, Bucky looks back out to his mom and replies, “Okay, love you guys, too.”

“And don’t forget to have lots of fun!” she calls to him as the limo’s engine returns to life and they begin to pull away from the curb.

His friends continuing to lovingly tease him, Bucky rubs at his eyes and exhales a laugh at his own expense. “Okay!” he hollers back anyways, if only for his mom’s satisfaction.

Clint, sitting on Bucky’s left, pretends to cuddle up to him and make kissy noises in his ear. Bucky shoves him away, laughing and reminding him that he has little room to talk, since his ma really _did_ buy him his tux. For a few minutes, the target of their innocent teasing alternates, until it eventually subsides, everyone getting caught up in their own chatter.

Sure enough, Quill pulls out his flask, as do Clint and Ben. All three begin to make their rounds so everyone can start getting their pre-drink on. Once they actually _get_ to prom, they’ll only really be able to sneak the occasional sip if they go outside. This way they can get a bit of a buzz to last them for a little while, at least.

If he does say so himself, Bucky thinks they make a pretty hot bunch. It’s always a little weird seeing everyone so formally dressed, since very rarely does the occasion call for something so fancy, but it’s also really cool at the same time. Getting driven around in the back of a limo like that, looking as good as they do, and they all agree that they sort of feel like movie stars. At Quill’s suggestion, they all take turns popping their heads through the opened roof.  

“You need to do it at least once in your life!” he keeps insisting. “C’mon, when’re we gonna have the chance to do this again, huh?”

They all know he has a point. Looking among each other, they fall silent for a few seconds; that reminder hanging over their heads that this sort of thing between all of them won’t last forever. That their childhoods are running out, and all too soon, things will be different. And then before the mood can become _too_ nostalgic and emotional, Natasha stands up, clears her throat, and announces, “Alright boys, let me show you how it’s done.” She rises out of her seat and goes to take her turn, thankfully ruining the moment and snapping everyone out of their thoughts.

After they’ve taken their turns – most of them sticking their arms in the air, or at the very least, cheering and whooping ridiculously through intersections, garnering a lot of attention from pedestrians walking by – they all settle back in their seats and continue talking. It’s about a half hour ride to get from Bucky’s place to the Tribeca Rooftop, so it leaves them with ample opportunity to polish off most of the three flasks among the seven of them. Bucky doesn’t want to get _too_ buzzed too early. But admittedly, every sip feels like a little more silky liquid courage seeping into his veins, bubbling up, and relaxing his nerves.

When Kitty and Ben start bickering back and forth – because Kitty was once again curious as to who might win Prom King and Queen and Ben, once again, thinks the whole thing is stupid and simply does _not_ care – Bucky zones out of the conversation for a few minutes, instead staring out the window to his left and watching the world whiz by. Every minute or so, he’ll shift his weight just an inch; just so his little secret can nudge against a new spot inside of him and send a small bolt of satisfaction up the base of his spine. Remind him, _I’m still here…_

He can’t wait to see what Steve looks like. He’s not sure what the teachers usually dress like for this sort of thing, but it’s still a formal event, so it’s got to be at least _slightly_ fancy, right? Bucky’s only ever seen Steve in full suit once before, back when they’d had their first date night. God, he’d looked so good; breathtakingly good. He’s the kind of beautiful that you selfishly want to showcase to the rest of the world, because you never knew you could get that lucky and you _still_ don’t know how the fuck it happened, but it _did_ , and you _want_ everyone else to be jealous because _damn right he’s mine._

Even though Bucky still can’t help but feel bitter towards their circumstances – especially tonight – he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t also a part of him that’s excited for Steve to look so handsome in front of all of his friends. He’s the hottest teacher at their school, there’s no competition. It’s never been much of a secret that most of his students develop crushes on him at least once. Like _Christ_ , Bucky’s even known dudes as straight as arrows that’ve drunkenly admitted during games of Fuck, Marry, Kill that they’d fuck “Mr. Rogers” if they had to and they liked dick.

Bucky smirks to himself, unable to hide it. Thinking about that now, it’s pretty hilarious in retrospect. Knowing what he knows now, and granted that he could get away with it of course, he’d correct them: no one _fucks_ Mr. Rogers. You _get_ fucked by him. Hard. Deliciously. Until you’re crying and drooling and still gasping for more. You call him ‘sir’ and he spanks your ass red and takes over you until you know nothing but his touch and his voice in your ear.

But then… _oh_ , but then. _Then_ he can give you so much more. He can hold you so close and fuck into you so deep that you forget how to breathe. The temperature of his skin can burn you alive, and the thud of his pulse against your body drives you insane; has such a power over you that it’ll correct your own heart until it’s matching up with his, because you need to beat with him, be _alive_ with him… For as strong and ruthless as he can be, he can be just as gentle and reverent; mapping out your every curve until you feel he made you with his very own hands, and you’re but an extension of his mind.

You don’t _fuck_ Steve Rogers. You _get_ fucked by him, and you get _made love to_ by him, and you become a slave to him in all the greatest ways. Ways you never even knew you or he were capable of until he showed them to you.

If only they fucking knew. Bucky shifts again against the seat and bites the side of his tongue to keep from sighing with content. Steve talks constantly about how lucky he feels he is to have Bucky, but the poor bastard _really_ doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Bucky’s the lucky one; won the goddamn lottery when he won Steve’s love, in his opinion.

His body feels light. If the rest of the night continues just like this, Bucky won’t have any complaints. Maybe it’s the alcohol taking the edge off, or maybe it’s laughing and smiling with the greatest friends anyone could ever ask for, or maybe it’s remembering that he’s got a sliver of Steve still with him; that for now, he’s still his and his alone. Bucky thinks about it, and he thinks that really, it’s probably a combination of all those things. Right now he feels happy, and hopeful. He can definitely work with this and have a good time while it lasts.

From the corner of his eye, Bucky keeps noticing Clint peeking over in Natasha’s general direction. Pulling Bucky from his daydreaming, he subtly glances over himself to see Natasha caught up in conversation with Strange. Deeming the coast momentarily clear, Bucky leans against Clint and turns his head to make it seem like he’s going back to gazing out the window.

“Stop creepin’ and quit starin’ at her if you don’t want her to notice,” he mutters under his breath, his mouth not far from Clint’s hearing aid.

Clint doesn’t say anything. Instead, he responds by curling up his fist and hitting Bucky once on the upper thigh in an attempt to charley horse him. They both learned how to do that to each other in the fifth grade, and it became their go-to arsenal that they haven’t quite grown out of resorting to yet. Luckily for Bucky, Clint’s a little off the mark; the action only making Bucky flinch (and subsequently, grunt in his throat when he uncontrollably clenches his muscles around the plug), rather than it cramping up the muscles in his leg.

That’s actually saying something. “Gee, you must _really_ be distracted for you to miss your shot,” Bucky says quietly, still faking nonchalance so they won’t draw attention to themselves – which really means, so _Natasha_ won’t notice how red Clint’s cheeks are now burning since realizing he’d been caught. But then Bucky sweetly adds, “It’s a little _higher_ , you dick,” as he tightens his own fist and swiftly whacks it down on Clint’s upper right thigh.

“Fuck!” Clint yelps, instantly gripping his thigh at the same time that the rest of their friends stop talking and look over to them.

“Charley horse?” Kitty asks knowingly. They’ve all known Clint and Bucky enough to know how childish they still get with each other sometimes. So much so, in fact, that in the _sixth_ grade the two of them had started a stupid bet to see which one of them could get the other _more_ in the span of a month. Bucky remembers it hurting like a bitch and by about halfway into the month, they lost track of their tally and called a truce.

“Fucking _fuck_ , Barnes!” Clint is shouting, now trying to slide his ass down the seat so he can stretch his legs out as much as he can to lessen the spasming.

Bucky’s already cracking up, lifting his hands up innocently and retorting, “Hey, fair’s fair – you tried to nail me first.”

“Been there, done that,” Clint shoots back, still capable of running his mouth and joking even while he rubs frantically at his thigh and curses under his breath.

At the jab, Bucky rolls his eyes, still smiling as he scoffs, “Oh, what the fuck _ever_ ,” while everyone else bursts out laughing and chants out a series of _Oooh_ ’s. It was never hidden from them that Clint had asked Bucky out all those months before, same as it was never hidden that they’d slept together. They weren’t the first people within their circle over the years to fool around with each other, so it was never taken as much of a big deal.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Clint’s still grumbling, hissing air through his teeth as he desperately continues to try shaking out his leg as much as he can.

“You know the rules: you try to get me first, I’m allowed one free shot. Ain’t my fault you missed.” All the same, Bucky waits until it finally seems to pass and Clint’s straightening back in his seat to ask, “You gonna live?”

Clint glares his way. “Fuck off.”

“You need me to call an ambulance?”

“I’m gonna get you back,” Clint promises, but at least that also gets him smiling. Shaking his head, he mutters, “Dick.”

Bucky throws an arms around his shoulders, lovingly replying, “Asshole,” as he gives Clint a squeeze. Clint seems to get the memo, though. He deliberately seems to direct his gaze anywhere _but_ Natasha for the rest of the drive. Honestly, it was really only for _his_ sake that Bucky warned him like he had – because to be perfectly frank, literally _all_ of them know about Clint’s monster thing for Nat. Even _Nat_ knows about Clint’s monster thing for her.

After all, it’s _been_ a recurring thing, on and off for _years_ ; pretty much as long as they’ve known each other. She and Bucky met Clint in the third grade. After he’d told her she was pretty and tried to hold her hand, Natasha pushed him onto his butt and stomped off angrily, and Clint had watched her go with damn near _stars_ in his eyes. The first thing he’d ever said to Bucky was: “I’m gonna marry her one day.”

And even at only eight years old, Bucky could only help him up and reply, “I think if you actually _told_ her that, she’d knock yer teeth out.”

But then as the years passed, Bucky started suspecting that maybe Clint’s feeling weren’t entirely unrequited. Natasha pokes fun at everyone, but she’s always seemed to have a _special_ soft spot for poking fun at Clint. There’ve been more than a few times where they’ll all be hanging out and Bucky will catch her looking away from him and getting this different kind of smile; one Bucky’s never seen her have otherwise. It’s small… like a secret all for herself. Only when Bucky started seeing Steve did he realize that it’s the same sort of smile Steve gives _him_ when he thinks Bucky isn’t looking. 

But Jesus Christ, both of them are fucking stubborn about it. It’s sort of ridiculous. Clint thinks he’s always been pretty stealthy about keeping his crush mum. He’s never made a move and he’s never confessed to anything. He and Natasha have obviously dated other people in front of each other, and Bucky genuinely _does_ think that there have been times where Clint’s convinced himself that he was over her. When he’d developed feelings for _Bucky_ was probably one of those times. But it always came back to catch up with him again, sooner or later.

None of them have the heart to tell him that _yeah_ , Natasha already knows. Her love life is about the one thing that she’s always chosen to remain a pretty tight vault about – even with Bucky, for the most part – but based on talks he’s had with her in the past, Bucky’s always been fairly confident that she likes him, too. Maybe even _more_ than likes him. He suspects she’s just waiting for Clint to get his shit together and _do_ something about it.

Except that Clint doesn’t really have a launching off point, and he never has. He’s clearly oblivious to however it is Natasha feels in return, so he’s never had the balls to do something about it and go for what he wants. Really, Bucky’s always thought they would be pretty perfect for each other, because they have so much in common – and that’s saying something, considering that Bucky’s just about the most protective person over Natasha there is.

Unfortunately, _because_ they have so much in common, they’re also both frustratingly stubborn as fuck. They’ll probably continue this dance around each other for the next million years unless someone intervenes and is like, _Okay listen the fuck up you two…_

So when they finally get there, even though Bucky is dying to race upstairs and start looking around to catch a glimpse of Steve, he figures he can hold off for a few more minutes. As everyone starts piling out, all still talking loudly between themselves, Bucky asks Clint if he’d like to have one more quick smoke before heading in. Clint says sure, and they head out of the limo last of the group.

Natasha lingers when she realizes that they aren’t following. But Bucky holds up his cigarette and says, “We’ll be right in. Just go on up, you don’t want your dress smellin’ like smoke.”

She points between them and reminds them, “Those things are disgusting, you know.”

“Thanks mom,” Clint jokes.

“We’ll be right in,” Bucky repeats, then nods and encourages her more enthusiastically, “it’s okay Nat, just go.”

He and Natasha used to joke with their friends that they were actually twins separated at birth, because it’s always like they’ve been able to read each other’s mind. They can communicate entirely with their eyes if need be – so when Natasha pauses for a _split_ second and holds Bucky’s stare, he thinks she gets what’s really going on. The corner of her mouth quirks up so faintly that only he would notice, and Bucky has to keep from smirking in response.

She concedes effortlessly after that, replying, “Alright. See you boys up there,” as she turns and heads in.

More people they know are in the middle of arriving, so they decide to veer off and put some space between them and the front door while they have their cigarettes. Bucky leans against the side of the building and regards Clint with an innocuous smile. “How’s the leg?” he kids.

Clint finishes his drag with a roll of his eyes. Shaking his head, he replies, “Shut up,” before blowing out a thin stream of smoke.

“We gonna need to cut it off?”

“Dude, you gonna let it go sometime tonight or not?”

Bucky bats his eyelashes and closes his eyes, only getting as far as singing, “ _Let it goooo_ \--” before the note drops and turns into a sudden, “Oww!” when Clint whack-a-moles him in the gut. Bucky exhales a mixture of a broken up groan and a laugh, shoving at Clint’s shoulder, before he surrenders and reluctantly says, “Alright, sorry. I’ll stop.”

There’s only the quickest beat of silence between them before Bucky casually adds, “But you _are_ welcome, by the way. For me savin’ your ass back there.”

“Saving my ass?” Clint repeats skeptically. “Is that what you wanna call it?”

“Well what, did you _want_ her to see you starin’?” That sure as hell shuts Clint up. Bucky nods to himself. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

Clint stares off, with a look in his eyes that tells Bucky that all he’s currently seeing is Natasha again. Quietly, he admits, “She looks amazing.”

Bucky absentmindedly flicks his thumb against the filter of his cigarette, ashing it onto the pavement. With another small nod, he agrees, “She does.”

“That was a nice, uh, corsage… thing, that you got her,” Clint then says. He seems to be struggling to find a way to get his thoughts out _without_ sounding completely awkward about it. So far, he’s not doing too well. Trying to play it cool, he clears his throat and then looks to Bucky, asking _way_ too nonchalantly, “So I take it you two are, like – I mean, she’s your date, or something? For tonight?”

Bucky holds his stare, trying his best not to start laughing again. He and Clint have been friends for ten fucking years and Clint doesn’t think he’s being totally transparent right now? However, Bucky _does_ know it’s a bit of a delicate matter – if it wasn’t, Clint wouldn’t have been tiptoeing around the subject for so long – so he chooses not to bust his balls about it. Instead, he shrugs with a short chuckle.

“I dunno, I guess so? It’s not like an _actual_ date, though. C’mon, you guys know how it is.”

He’s surprised when Clint replies, “I dunno, man… It’s hard to get a read on you two. Like, half the time we’re playing the guessing game ‘bout whether you and her would ever actually get together or not.”

“What?”

That honestly floors Bucky to hear. He knows he and Natasha have a closer-than-average friendship, but he’d always assumed their other friends understood that it was strictly platonic. It always _has_ been. Like… Okay, there were a _couple_ times in the past when they’d drunkenly make out at one of their friend’s parties, but that was never a big deal. Bucky made out with _everyone_ back then. It was just them being stupid; still never meant anything.

They’re just comfortable with each other. If anything, Natasha knowing as much as she does about Bucky just _adds_ to the whole platonic thing, and vice versa.

Clint shrugs again for lack of a better response. Still surprised, Bucky then asks, “Dude… you _do_ remember how gay I am, right? ‘Cause – I mean, not to harp on the past or nothin’, but I’m pretty sure if that wasn’t clear before, it was when I let you stick it in my ass.”

That makes Clint bust out into a grin, laughing unexpectedly. All the same, he then sighs and points out, “Yeah, but you’ve still been with girls, though. You’re not even _gay_ -gay. Aren’t you, like, pan or something?”

Bucky waves his hand dismissively. “ _Irrelevant_ – I don’t got no sexuality. I just like what I like, you _know_ that. And I’ve been with like _two_ girls,” he reminds him, flippantly holding up two fingers, “and only one of ‘em was actual sex. I may not be ‘full-fledged gay’ but I still like dick a hell of a lot more than I like anything else.”

Clint still doesn’t seem convinced. On a _rational_ level, Clint _does_ know all this. Bucky imagines that if they were talking about anyone else, this would be a non-issue. He supposes it’s a little harder not to overthink things when it’s concerning the person you’ve been secretly in love with for most of your life. Keeping that in mind, Bucky flicks his cigarette away and then nudges Clint on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Stop, ‘kay? Ain’t nothin’ ever gone on like that between Natasha and me. I mean, yeah, I love her; anyone ever hurt her and I’d hurt _them_ , and sure, I know I always joke that if I was ‘any less gay, then I’d marry her’. I mean, I probably _would_. But I’m not,” he says, putting a hand on Clint’s shoulder.

With a little shake, he keeps staring him in the eye and continues with every ounce of sincerity he’s got, “And we may love each other in a hell of a whole lot of ways, but romantically ain’t one of them... So get that out of your head, stop being weird, and just ask her out already.”

Clearly that wasn’t the big conclusion Clint was expecting. Eyes widening, he tilts his chin down and looks at Bucky like his hearing aids suddenly malfunctioned and he didn’t catch that correctly. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ his expression says. Then, sure enough--

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Here we go,” Bucky sighs.

“Are you seriously suggesting I march upstairs and ask Natasha out? Natasha _Romanoff_ ,” Clint keeps going, completely deadpan, making it sound as though Bucky proposed that he take a stroll straight off the roof, just for kicks. “You _do_ realize she’d probably kick my ass, right? Make me eat my own tux? I don’t feel like _crying_ in front of our graduating class, Barnes.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a drama queen – you’re like a fuckin’ Kardashian,” groans Bucky, covering his face and shaking his head. Fed up with trying to approach the situation so delicately, he cuts Clint off as he starts to open his mouth again and exclaims, “Dude, stop! Just stop. Listen to me.”

Taking Clint by the shoulders, Bucky decides it’s time someone spelled it out for him: “She… _liiiiikes_ … youuuuu. You, y-o-u – Clinton Francis Barton,” he says, voice firm. “Has she told me that herself? No. Am I still certain? Yes. You like her, she likes you, get it? Good! ‘Cause you two need to get your heads out of your asses. It’s fuckin’ annoying the rest of us to shit. So yeah, you _are_ gonna march up there, and I don’t care _when_ it happens, but sometime tonight you’re gonna ask her to dance. Got it?”

“But what if you’re wro--”

“Clinton, I swear to Christ I will hurt you if you don’t fuckin’ stop,” Bucky interrupts, eyebrows raising to make his affectionate threat very clear, all the same. “Look, no one’s saying you gotta ask her to _marry_ you or nothin’. You don’t even have to ask her on a date tonight if you’re not ready to. Just ask her to dance, s’not that scary. She _will_ say yes. Just trust me. If she doesn’t, then you get a free nut shot, right in front of everyone if you want.”

Narrowing his eyes at Bucky, Clint thinks on it for a few seconds. He’s bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, anxious but like he’s starting to gather the guts needed to actually do it. Clint rarely shies away in the face of a challenge, even if that challenge is as scary as finally making a move on the girl he’s been nuts about since third grade. Even when, on top of _that_ , that girl happens to be Natasha Romanoff.

Bucky sure as fuck _hopes_ he’s going to do it. He’s always been completely certain that Natasha has a thing for him, too. If this is the shove they both need, then Bucky’s only happy to be the one to do the shoving. They’ll thank him one day.

“ _Two_ free nut shots,” Clint finally counters, naming his terms before holding up his pointer finger quickly and clarifying, “and you’re _not_ allowed to hit back.”

Bucky grins. “Deal. Alright? C’mon, let’s head on up before they send out a search party.” Throwing his arm back around Clint’s shoulder, Bucky gives him an encouraging shake and turns them both to walk back towards the front door.

Under his breath, Clint grumbles, “I’ll be lucky if I don’t shit my pants.”

“You’ll do fine. Maybe just don’t open with that, though.”

Clint mock laughs. “Ye-e-eah, thanks Casanova.”

But then he huffs softly, almost inaudibly. Bucky sneaks a glance over at him, and he doesn’t miss the way Clint’s trying to hide his smile all to himself. It’s a nervous one, but also excited. It makes Bucky feel pretty pleased, seeing that. Yeah, they’ll totally both be thanking him one day. He’s willing to bet on it.

Not to brag, but Bucky thinks he’s a pretty decent Matchmaker. E-Harmony would be proud.

* * *

Less than five minutes later, Bucky’s stomach is filled with so many butterflies, he feels like he could throw up. Most of their friends are already inside the venue room, decorated and flashing with different colored lights emanating from the DJ’s table, all for the night to come. There’s a small crowd lined up to head in; a photographer set up right on the other side for those who’d like a professional picture taken of them and their date. 

It reminds Bucky of every high school cliché he’d ever seen in the movies, but there’s something sort of sweet about it, too. He spots Parker’s ex-girlfriend, MJ, cuddling up to her boyfriend Harry, the two throwing on a matching pair of cheesy grins moments before the flash goes off. It’s cute; makes him a little disappointed when he remembers that that’s not quite a thing he can take part in himself – not in the same way – but still… cute.

Of course, not _everyone_ is utilizing the photographer for some cheesy picture with their date. Some people who’ve chosen to go stag still take their moment and opt for a solo photo, usually striking some kind of epic pose. And Bucky also sees quite a lot of his classmates grabbing their buddies and trying to see how many of them they can cram together into one shot. That makes Bucky feel a bit better. That’s something he _can_ do and fully enjoy.

“Hey!” Natasha calls over to them, emerging from inside the venue to come join them. Of course, Clint throws on his usual demeanor the second he sees her. Bucky doesn’t think it’s a coincidence, though, that he also tries harder than usual to act like there are _so_ many other things around them that are fascinating – just so he won’t fuck up and wind up staring at Natasha for too long again.

“You both smell like an ashtray,” she tutts them, making a face. “Barton, your mom’s gonna kill you for ruining your suit. You know that, right?”

Clint waves the comment away. “Ah whatever, she knows I smoke. It’s not like I didn’t pay for this myself anyways.”

Bucky’s absentmindedly tapping his foot off the ground, glancing over Natasha’s head to try and catch a glimpse inside and see if he can spot Steve. They can actually head in now – there’s nothing stopping them, they can just squeeze around the small crowd blocking up the entrance and slip inside – but for whatever reason, Bucky’s making no effort to move.

He’s excited, and he’s nervous, and knowing he’s so close to Steve is forcing that stretch hiding away beneath his clothes to return to the forefront of his mind. But shit, also realizing he’s in the same building as Steve, on the same floor no less, brings up the fact that Bucky doesn’t know how he’s supposed to properly react when he actually _does_ see him.

How many times can he get away with casually migrating over to Steve to make conversation without it seeming suspicious? How is Bucky supposed to be expected to see Steve dressed up as good as Bucky _knows_ he’s going to look, and contain himself? Pretend that he doesn’t give a shit and that Steve Rogers doesn’t phase him?

Can he stop himself from constantly looking over his shoulder all night just to see if Steve’s doing the same; keeping an eye on him? Will it _hurt_ whenever Bucky does that and finds that Steve’s not looking back, even though he understands exactly why Steve would have to play things just as carefully?

Basically, how is Bucky supposed to share this night with him without being able to share it at all? It wasn’t until he and Clint actually set foot inside the building that it dawned on Bucky exactly how complicated this night would be. This might be the first real test to their relationship. This is the first real time, in this sort of setting, where they’ll be around each other all night, without actually being able to give anything away.

He wants to see Steve, but when it comes to Steve, Bucky’s always wanted too _much._ Just a taste is hardly enough during school hours. He always wants more. He wants it all. But at least at school, he’s able to make do with it, because it’s just _one_ class.

But that’s just an hour and a half, not a _whole evening._ In this particular case, it could be a recipe for disaster; have the potential to go really great, but also the potential to really fucking suck and go horribly wrong, just like he was so anxious it would. Can they get through it without anyone suspecting anything? Can they get through it with their _emotions_ unscathed, or will this just go to prove to them that keeping their relationship a secret is just too difficult?

If they can survive prom, then maybe that means they could have a real shot at surviving together if Bucky were in LA.

But if they _can’t…_

And that is probably why Bucky still hasn’t actually gone _in_ yet. So long as he keeps lingering outside, he can buy more time and not have to figure out the answers to all those questions.

Unfortunately for him, Clint obviously knows nothing about any of this. When he asks, “Sooo, we just gonna chill out here all night, or were we gonna go find our table?” Bucky knows there’s not really anything he can say to keep them where they are. Nothing that’d make _sense_ , anyways.

“Yeah, sure,” he replies, throwing on a smile, “uh, after you.”

“We got the two tables in the back left corner,” Natasha tells them, letting Clint take the lead as they begin to follow. “I’m not sure if everyone’s still sitting or not. I think Quill said he wanted to have a talk with the DJ.”

“Oh god,” Clint laughs, “okay, so whatever we do? One of us keeps an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t hijack the sound system and start playing his ‘Awesome Mix’ again. No offense – I mean, I love the guy – but if I have to listen to _I Want You Back_ one more time, I’m going to kill someone.”

Natasha laughs, understanding his sentiment. They could probably all recite the lyrics to every single song on both Volumes One _and_ Two thanks to Peter playing them so fucking much. They give him a hard time about it, but it’s all in good fun. Truthfully, as annoying as it can sometimes be to hear the same thing over and over whenever they hang out, none of them would ever ask him to stop. Not when they know what it means to him.

Peter’s mother, Meredith, had made those cassettes for him as a birthday present. That same year, when he was eight, she passed away from cancer. Unconventional as it was, that was one of the things he and Bucky had bonded over when first becoming friends. Bucky had also been the same age when he’d lost _his_ parents, and it was a similarity both of them could rarely find in others.

Because his dad ran out on Meredith and Peter when Peter was just a toddler, he was raised by his grandparents after his mom died. Bucky, of course, was adopted alongside his sister and raised by his mom and dad now. Bucky kept his biological father’s dog tags, much like Peter kept the walkman and mixed tapes his mom had given him. Even though he doesn’t wear them every day anymore, those dog tags are his most cherished possession; his little token he can carry with him. A reminder that even though his parents are _gone_ , they’re still somehow there. So yeah, Bucky gets it. Better than most.

The _other_ Peter gets it, too. He was also raised by his aunt and uncle for most of his life. Whenever Bucky thinks about it for too long, it makes him sad that so many of them had to experience that sort of sorrow so early on in their lives, even if the three of them were lucky enough to have great upbringings in the aftermath. They all know what that type of loss is like, and the way it affects you every day afterwards. And as much as their other friends do their best to understand, it’s just something you really _can’t._ Not unless it’s touched you personally.

Steve understands. Bucky never imagined how much Steve could understand until that night when he’d first opened up about Sarah. Steve didn’t even know it then, just how much his words – his own story – meant to Bucky. He still doesn’t, really. All Bucky’s really ever told Steve was that he and Rebecca were adopted. At the time, the rest of the story wasn’t something Bucky wanted to delve into. It just wasn’t the right time, and he didn’t want to drag down the mood.

But then Steve started talking about his mother, and Bucky’s heart simultaneously flattened to his rib cage and shattered into a hundred pieces because _this thing_ , this sort of experience, was something it turned out they shared. It had hurt, and it still does, to think of Steve having lived through that loss, too. To know that there’s nothing Bucky could do to turn back time and change the past, or at least be there to wrap Steve up when Steve would’ve needed it and comfort him.

At the same time, to Bucky, it bonds them even closer together, almost _intrinsically._ The universe works in strange ways. Bucky’s always thought that he was meant to meet and become friends with Peter Quill and Peter Parker, because they could provide that tiny spec of understanding that the others needed; that sense of, _I was there too, and you’re not alone._ Similarly, with all his heart and soul, the moment Steve had told Bucky about Sarah was the moment Bucky knew that they were meant to be together, too.

Which is _great_ , until it only adds to everything and reminds Bucky of how much it’d destroy him to _lose_ that, and—

“Deal, we can take shifts,” he can faintly hear Natasha laugh, before a hand is suddenly waving in front of his face. Bucky hadn’t realized he’d zoned out again, lost as usual these days in his thoughts and walking on autopilot.

“Huh?” he dumbly asks, blinking and then looking to her. His brows furrow because _shit_ , he totally missed whatever she last said to him.

“I said you and I could handle that,” she repeats. One look at his face gets her narrowing her eyes at him, knowing something’s up. Luckily, Clint doesn’t notice. He’s now too busy perking up and spotting where their friends are sprinkled out within the crowd. Dinner’s not for another twenty minutes or so, so it’s pretty much just socializing and exchanging excited hello’s to everyone until then. He lifts a hand and tries to holler over to them over the music already playing, before setting off to go join them.

Bucky hesitates, knowing they should follow, but still trying to get proper function over his legs again. It’s like his gaze is stuck on Clint because he’s almost too _scared_ to tear it away and go searching anywhere else. He just wants tonight to go perfectly. He wants to make everyone proud and have fun. He wants to have the time of his life with his friends but he also doesn’t want to accept that they’ve all grown up. He wants to see Steve but he also _doesn’t_ and he really does feel like he’s about to throw up or get the hiccups or something--

Natasha steps in closer so she can ask as subtly as possible, “You alright?”

Her hand suddenly touching his arm helps ground him. Bucky could kiss her, she’s such a life saver, even when she’s not even trying to be. It’s been so easy lately to let the noise in his brain suck him up and deafen him in its chaos, that had Natasha not intervened, that’s most likely what would’ve happened again. Swallowing the unexpected lump in his throat, Bucky forces himself to take a deep breath.

He nods, lips turning up into a nervous smile. “Yeah,” he replies, sounding as unsure as he currently feels, “m’fine. Just…”

She knows. Maybe not _everything_ , but better than anyone else, she knows. Lifting her hands, she smooths down Bucky’s jacket, even though it’s hardly rumpled. Her chin dips down, just the smallest nod of her own, and she tells him, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Now Bucky can’t take his eyes off _her_ , making her the new focus so he has an excuse not to start trying to track Steve down. He knows he’s acting like a total chickenshit, making such a fuss like this over something so stupid. Freaking out over _prom_ , freaking out over _grad_ , freaking out over _college,_ freaking out, and out, and _out_.

It’s ridiculous, yes, _he knows_ , he just – he can’t help how much everything feels like the end of the world right now. How it’s just one thing after another, piling heavier and heavier on top of each other until it’s no longer a molehill, _yeah_ , it’s a goddamn mountain. If Bucky could shrug it all off and switch his mood, he _would_ – of course he fucking would. It’s not as if he _likes_ feeling this way.

“You think?” he croaks, exhaling another weak chuckle when she reaches up higher and touches up his hair – barely styled, just slightly messy with minimal product – with the tips of her fingers. That protectiveness Bucky feels over her goes both ways. He can always tell when she starts mother-henning him that, despite trying to lighten up the atmosphere and get him smiling, she really _is_ concerned over making sure Bucky’s okay.

Flashing him that trademark, all-knowing smirk of hers, she assures him, “I _know_. Everything will be just fine, so stop worrying. God, you’re making _me_ stress just by looking at you.”

Bucky chews on his bottom lip. “Do I look okay? Honestly?”

Now she shakes her head, sighing as her smirk turns into a small smile. “Jesus, Yasha,” she says, and that in itself makes Bucky feel a little calmer. She only busts out that pet name for Bucky when they’re having a _moment_ ; one where she’s feeling particularly affectionate towards him and actually commits to it.

“Honestly,” he interjects, dead serious. “‘Cause if I really look like a dumpster fire and you didn’t tell me…”

“You’re ridiculous,” she replies. “You look very handsome. Seriously, Steve isn’t going to know what to do with himself when he sees you.”

Just the mention of his name sets off Bucky’s pulse with anticipation. He feels like he’s back in the sixth grade again, about to ask out his first crush and damn near shaking because of it. It’s thrill combined with dread, with that dash of _I have no fucking clue what I’m doing._ Covering Natasha’s hand with his own, he lowers them and then gives it a squeeze.

“I’m sort of terrified to see him,” he admits. “But… God, I fuckin’ want to so bad. I don’t even know where he is.”

The right side of her mouth tugs up. Tilting her head back quickly, she answers, “Over near the projection screen, talking with Mr. Wilson and Mr. Stark.”

“You already searched him down?”

“Of course I did. You’re surprised?”

Bucky laughs, suddenly feeling hysterical. Before he can talk himself out of it, he finds himself straightening and lifting his head so he can look over to where Natasha had said he’d be. Almost immediately, he spots Steve – and the air in his chest might as well have been punched straight out of his lungs.

He’s in a suit. _Goddamn it_ , he’s in a motherfucking suit; dark grey jacket (and Bucky can only assume with a matching set of dress pants), casually undone to reveal a white dress shirt underneath. No tie, same as Bucky, and not even buttoned up fully. _Jesus fuck_ , he can already tell that much from all the way on the other side of the room, even with having to crane his neck to see over every head in that sea of students between them.

His hair looks to be styled the way Bucky likes best, too: long bangs usually tousled and messy whenever they’re alone at his place, now gelled back to give him that pristine, sophisticated look. Steve’s been making offhand comments lately about how he needs to get a trim soon. Bucky thinks he looks hot no matter what length his hair is at, but he still has to respectfully disagree. The length it’s at now is fucking _perfect_ , and mixed with his cleanly trimmed beard? _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

And Bucky knows Steve’s appearance tonight isn’t unintentional, and that only makes it worse on his impulse control. On the contrary, he doesn’t need to be told that Steve’s deliberately gone out of his way to look as good as he possibly could for Bucky to know that that’s still the case. It’s the perfect balance between suave and laid back; like he put in just the right amount of effort. Not too little and not too much, even though he still probably put in quite a _lot_ in the hopes of impressing the date he can’t tell anyone about. 

Bucky knows he shouldn’t be surprised, but still – fucking _slay_ him – there’s something about Steve Rogers all dressed up that does the most terrible things to Bucky and whatever hope he had remaining for his morals. Impulsively, he clenches down hard around his plug. He wants to cut right through that crowd, shove Steve up against the nearest wall, and slam their mouths together. He wants Steve to take him right there on the floor for everyone to see.

But they can’t, _oh_ , they _can’t_ , they can’t, they can’t, and that only makes Bucky thirst for it more. The fact that he won’t be able to see him after the night’s over has never been more fucking painful; the ultimate tease.

“Close your mouth,” Natasha warns him, “it’s practically on the floor.”

“But _look_ at him,” Bucky nearly whines. “He’s – he looks – _ugh_ , fuck my life. I can’t go over there.” She laughs, already tugging on his hand to try and drag him behind her. Bucky resists, grounding his footing and trying to pull her back over. “No, seriously! I can’t, I’m gonna blow it. Let’s just go hang out with everyone else. I’ll just see him around later, it’s fine.”

Natasha lets out a heavy breath, walking back in close to explain, “Listen. Nothing’s gonna happen, okay? You’re freaking yourself out and you haven’t even said hello to him yet. You’re _not_ gonna blow anything, okay? You’re too invested to let yourself slip up, and so’s he. It’ll be fine.

“C’mon, you’ve been doing this exact thing every single day with him at school for the past – what, almost _eight_ months? You even had _me_ fooled for a while. This is just like that. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be right there with you. You know I won’t let you say anything stupid.”

Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek until it starts to sting. Averting his stare back over to Steve for a moment, he asks, “Promise?”

Now she laughs again. “Yes, I _promise_. Isn’t that what I always do? Come on, just rip the Band-Aid off and get the hard part over with. You’ve psyched yourself out ‘cause you’re expecting the worse, but _nothing_ is going to happen. We’re just gonna go over and say hello. I’ve got it, just follow my lead.”

She regards him, watching him swallow. When he finally nods, she says, “Okay? Okay, let’s go,” and turns away again, her fingers still entwined with his. This time, Bucky follows. His pulse is in his mouth and he wants to apologize for his palms being clammy. His phone is in his pocket – maybe he should’ve texted Steve first to let him know when he’d arrived. They haven’t spoken since Bucky had gotten back home a few hours earlier.

But it’s too late for that now. It doesn’t even take them half a minute to cross the room. Bucky notices a snack table set up right next to where Steve and the other teachers are standing, filled with paper plates and cups, finger foods, and even a few punch bowls (of course – because why not keep adding to the stereotypes, right?). When Natasha veers to it, still pulling Bucky in tow, he realizes her game plan.

Letting go of his hand, Natasha grabs a plate and starts casually filling it up. Bucky isn’t feeling overly hungry himself, so he opts for some punch. Taking a page from Clint’s book, he’s making sure to look anywhere _but_ in Steve’s direction, and give his best performance when Natasha purposely starts making conversation about the food. They begin inching their way closer. She conveniently reaches out to grab some veggies and dip, and utilizes that moment to glance up and make eye contact with Mr. Stark.

“Good evening, Miss Romanoff,” Bucky hears him say, and so he figures that’s the perfect opportunity to glance over too.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” she replies. Then she looks to the other two and greets them in kind.

“Mr. Barnes, looking dapper, young man,” Mr. Stark says to him.

Bucky flashes him a smile, sticking his free hand into his pant pocket while he approaches Natasha’s side and joins the conversation. “You’re the second person to say that to me so far. Thanks.”

“Who was the first?”

“Stephen.”

“Strange?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, well that makes sense then. Always knew that kid was smart,” Mr. Stark grins, looking pleased.

Bucky takes his chances and peeks towards Steve, catching him just at the tail end of dragging his own eyes back up the length of Bucky’s body. It would seem that that moment of stun Bucky had felt when he first saw him is being shared now. Despite Bucky having already sent him a photo of his outfit earlier in the week, it’s different in the flesh, and Steve’s eyes are still widened in awe, just the tiniest bit. Bucky wants to preen under his attention; ask Steve if he likes how Bucky looks, just to hear him say it.

Then their eyes meet, and every single hickey hidden beneath Bucky’s clothes starts screaming for attention; a ghost ache stamped all over to match the one buried to the hilt inside of his ass. _Sneaky_ , they’re so fucking sneaky, it’s like the most dangerous form of foreplay. And getting to be this close to him now, Steve looks even more fucking unlawful. He has to scrounge up every morsel of self-control he has to not sound breathless when he says, “Hey, sir.”

Steve’s lips part, releasing a breath too quiet to be heard over the music and conversations going on in the room. Bucky can see it, though, written all over his face. In the blink on an eye, it disappears. “Good evening, Mr. Barnes,” he answers formally, throwing on a polite smile and going from _Bucky’s_ Steve to Steve Rogers the Teacher as if the former never existed. “You look nice. Both of you,” he adds for good measure, shifting his gaze from him to Natasha.

Bucky can’t help but smirk at how well they’ve perfected this little game of theirs after so much practice. He’d been preparing himself for the worst – story of his fucking _life_ lately – but just like that, Bucky finds it just as easy as Natasha promised to convincingly fall into his usual role, too.

Even if on the inside he’s damn near quivering, biting back the urge to drop to his knees and nuzzle his cheek against the warmth he knows would be waiting for him from Steve’s palm.

“You guys don’t look too bad yourself,” he says, adopting his trademark, cool-headed disguise and feeding into the charade. “You know, for glorified babysitters.”

“Hey now,” jumps in Mr. Wilson, feigning offense, “we’re not _that_ old. Just ‘cause we’re teachers doesn’t mean we can’t look good every once in a while, you know.”

“I think we look pretty dashing, if I do say so myself,” Mr. Stark agrees, giving Mr. Wilson an affirmative nod. There’s a beat, and suddenly he’s breaking out into a grin, lifting his hand closest to Steve to slap it onto his shoulder. Looking to him, Mr. Stark continues, “Even Senior Steve here knows how to clean himself up nicely when he’s not dressing for his retirement party.”

Bucky snorts, much as he tries not to. Steve’s gaze snaps over to him, and for one split second, there’s a challenge in his eyes. A silent warning: _you sure you want to be siding with him, little boy?_ It flickers away too fast for anyone but Bucky to see it, but it does the trick: Bucky’s cock twitches and his heart skips a beat, as he fights the desire to avert his eyes to the floor and whisper a meek apology for his behavior.

 _God_ , Bucky’s such a fucking sub when it comes to this man. It’s so painstakingly obvious to him now that looking back on it, Bucky has absolutely no idea how he went so long _not_ having known that about himself. Even without saying a word, Steve can still work him like an instrument; trigger Bucky best, in all the ways that reminds him when Steve cannot, _you’re still mine, and you obey me._

But he keeps his composure, clearing his throat to himself so softly that no one notices while he readjusts his smile so nothing seems amiss. Meanwhile, Steve’s replying, “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Haven’t heard that one before.”

His co-worker continues, mirthful, “You know, you’re pretty spry for an older fellow. What’s your thing – Pilates?”

This time, the rest of them can’t _help_ but laugh, while Steve scoffs out a sarcastic chuckle and nods. “ _Alright_ , I get it, I own too many cardigans.”

“Does that mean we can finally have that ceremonial sweater vest-burning party then?”

Steve rolls his eyes and deadpans, “You’re hilarious,” as he knocks Mr. Stark’s hand from his shoulder. “Maybe we can save all these shots to my character for when we’re _not_ surrounded by students?”

Natasha shares a side glance with Bucky, smirking as she raises her eyebrows as if to say, _Well, this is interesting_. Clearly this is a topic they’ve teased him about before. Bucky can’t help but find that particularly hilarious, given that Steve has the _exact_ same reputation among the student body.

Bucky remembers teasing him about it, too, that first time they ever hooked up. It makes that feel like a million years ago; back before seeing Steve lounging around in track pants and t-shirts became second nature. Back before Bucky discovered how fucking _godly_ Steve actually is underneath all those ‘old man shirts’, and every filthy daydream Bucky ever had of him was confirmed.

As he’s watching, he notices that it feels a little strange seeing their teachers joke around like this. In its own way, it’s also endearing. Bucky’s never really seen Steve interacting with them – his _friends_ – before. For the first time, by extension, he feels like he’s seeing Mr. Wilson and Mr. Stark as real people, too. It’s new. Bucky tries to imagine this sort of harmless banter in an outside setting, like at a bar or maybe a restaurant. Connect points A to B and remember that every time he’d be texting Steve and Steve was out with his friends, having a good time, _they_ were the ones he was referring to.

And Bucky tries to picture it, he tries… and finds himself surprised to discover that he _can’t._

It’s too foreign a concept to him, picturing these _other_ teachers out in the real world. There’s still that barrier there that makes it almost impossible to imagine them outside of the classroom, doing regular things and having regular conversations like this, and being _regular friends_ with Steve. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to describe it – they’re just like Steve. Yes, they’re teachers and yes, Bucky’s been taught by all three of them, but Steve’s _different._

Bucky’s seen him behind closed doors. He’s a flesh and blood human being with three dimensions, and dreams, and feelings, and vulnerabilities. Bucky’s seen him laugh, and yell, and sleep, and cry. He’s watched Steve open his heart and he’s watched Steve unravel against him. Steve’s not just his lover, but one of his best friends.

Mr. Wilson and Mr. Stark are no different from that, while somehow at the same time being _entirely_ different. To Bucky, the student, it’s hard to see them, the _teachers_ , as anything but _one_ -dimensional; completely separate from his life. He realizes that because he and Steve have spent so much time around each other but never in the company of others, remembering that Steve _does_ have a life outside of their relationship leaves Bucky… confused.

On the one hand, it makes him yearn for the day where he can be a part of that, too. Where he’ll get to experience Steve in _all_ facets of his life, and not just the one they’re limited to now. They’ll get to share their lives together _with_ the others that mean something to them. Bucky _will_ get to know these people on a personal level. Similarly, have Steve know Natasha – know _Clint_ , know _Quill_ , know all of them – in the same way: as a friend, rather than a former student.

Yet, in the same breath… can they actually have that someday? Is that barrier they all have now something that can be overlooked down the road? When Bucky tries to think of a time in their future where he could be seen as an equal to these adults – and not just a child by comparison – it’s tough to wrap his head around. He _wants_ that, don’t get him wrong – he wants to be able to envision that future for them more than anything in the world.

But will they ever be able to accept Bucky simply as _Steve’s boyfriend_ , no other strings attached, and not _Steve’s boyfriend who’s also thirteen years younger than him and who we all used to teach before he was a legal adult?_ Will Steve ever be able to see _his_ friends as equals, being so much younger? Hell, will his _friends_ be able to get over the age difference?

Bucky has to believe it’s possible. How the fuck could he have gone so long in this relationship without actually stopping to consider all of that? Maybe it’s because he and Steve have never been put in this position before, so there’s never been the chance to properly consider it. Or maybe Bucky’s just been delusional; childishly parading around with the naïve belief that, with just the right amount of time, it would all become simple once he was just _old enough_. 

And then Steve’s faux offended demeanor cracks, and he closes his eyes as his chin dips down and a self-deprecating chuckle escapes him… And when he opens his eyes and looks back up, his gaze innocently meets Bucky’s, and that smile warms even more. No one else would think anything of it, but Bucky knows. He knows that smile, that love hidden away in his eyes meant for no one else but him.

And Bucky knows: _yes, I want this._ He always has when it came to Steve, and he always will. So long as Steve will have him, Bucky will fight to hell and back to make this last to the end of the line. He’d spent so many nights being the one to reassure Steve that hardships _will_ come their way, and there will _always_ be people who don’t understand. Many will probably condemn them and try to shit all over what they have.

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to listen to his own words. All he needs to do is look to Natasha to remember that not _everyone_ will react that way. She’s living proof right there. And Sarah would’ve accepted them, too, Bucky has to believe that. It won’t be easy, but Bucky knew that when he got himself involved in this. That comes with the territory. It’s all a matter of deciding whether it’s _worth_ it.

And yes… Steve Rogers is worth every second of the rest of Bucky’s life. Bucky just hopes to god that Steve will feel the same way once they finally sit down and talk.

The conversation is still continuing on in front of him. “Alright, alright, now we gotta give the man _some_ credit,” Mr. Wilson points out, just as amused, “he’s been busting out some pretty nice dress shirts lately. Y’know, not everyone thinks it’s professional to wear _Pantera_ on the job.”

“I fully maintain that it’s well within my rights to educate these children about _real_ music, thank you,” Mr. Stark coolly retaliates, raising his index finger. “Plus, it’s not against the dress code, no matter what Miss Hill says.” Looking to Bucky and Natasha, he says, “Help me out here – Mr. Rogers could pull off an AC/DC shirt, right? ‘Cause I keep trying to tell him--”

“Okay, I think that’s enough about that,” Steve interrupts. With an apologetic smile, he says to Bucky and Natasha, “Sorry about him. Miss Hill specifically put us in charge of keeping him in line--”

Mr. Wilson juts his thumb out in the science teacher’s direction, adding in agreement, “ _That’s_ our ‘glorified babysitting’.”

Pouting, Mr. Stark plays along and complains for Bucky’s and Natasha’s amusement, “Aww, you guys are the worst parents ever. You never let me have any fun. For the record, though, I only agreed to come for the punch. It’s spiked already, right?” he jokes.

He’s the one who’s always had a bit of a reputation for being the ‘cool’ teacher, since he’s never really come with a filter and doesn’t seem to give a fuck about proper ceremony in front of his students. The longer Bucky listens to him talk, the more he finds himself feeling hopeful. He and Clint would probably get along _really_ well. Quill, too. They all seem to share the same sense of humor.

“Tony, _inappropriate_ ,” Steve groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh whatever, it’s not like they’re kids. I’m sure they do much worse anyways, isn’t that right?” he asks, once again looking to Bucky and Natasha for backup.

 _Hmm._ This provides an excellent opportunity – one that Bucky probably _shouldn’t_ take advantage of, but to hell with it. He nods, nudging Natasha on the arm until she’s nodding too.

“Oh yeah,” he says over-enthusiastically.

“All the time,” she agrees.

“We’re just a bunch of hooligans, always up to no good,” Bucky continues, purposely laying it on thick so the lighthearted sarcasm is obvious. Then he deliberately looks right at Steve and adds, “Always _misbehaving_.”

The other two teachers are looking at them, so they miss the way Steve’s eyes flash with satisfaction, the way the corner of his mouth curls up into a smirk as he shakes his head and holds Bucky’s stare. _Oh, you’re good_ , his expression translates. _Now stop that before I make you regret it later._

“I’ll make sure I tell Peter to spike the punch later,” Natasha says to Bucky, feigning seriousness. “Anyways, we’re gonna go find our friends,” she then continues, linking her arm through Bucky’s.

“Alright, you kids have a good night,” Mr. Wilson replies, still smiling.

Mr. Stark pretends to look around, pointing at them and throwing in, “And, uh, if Miss Hill’s somehow around and heard that, it was all their idea.”

Steve’s still staring at Bucky, expression unchanged. “Be good,” he tells them both, choosing his words precisely.

Two can still play at this game. Turning to walk away, Bucky shrugs and replies back, “No promises,” before he and Natasha head back into the crowd of their peers.

As soon as his back is to Steve, he lets out the air in his lungs, feeling dizzy from the rush of that exchange. Of how it _ended_. He’s grateful Natasha chose then of all times to make an excuse for them to walk away, because Bucky’s cock is already half-hard against his thigh, and had that gone on _any_ longer, Bucky would’ve been there all night; flushed and horny and hard as fuck and incapable of being pried away from Steve even if his life depended on it.

“You’re ridiculous,” Natasha chides him, but she sounds more entertained than anything. “‘Always misbehaving?’ Were you even _trying_ to stop yourself at that point?”

“God, I couldn’t help it, he’s so fucking hot,” Bucky groans.

“You gonna be alright? You need me to pour a glass of ice water over your head?”

Bucky laughs. “No thank you, I think I’m fine now.”

“You sure? ‘Cause I wouldn’t be opposed, if that’s what would help. In fact, it’d be my pleasure. I can always go back there and get some more punch--”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Bucky says, removing his arm from hers so he can instead throw it around her shoulder, hugging her to his side as they spot their friends.

* * *

It’s during dinner that Bucky’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Mid-bite, he reaches into it and pull his iPhone out, giving it little thought. He’s half expecting it to be from his mom, checking in to see how everything’s going so far. She was even more excited about tonight than he was, so he wouldn’t put it past her. 

Instead, he reads: **_No promises, huh?_**

_Oh._

Bucky grins, swallowing the chicken in his mouth and then putting down his fork so he can use both hands to reply. He’d been right in the middle of listening to Clint saying something, so he distractedly mumbles, “Sorry, keep goin’,” as his thumbs tap away off the screen. Clint asks who he could _possibly_ be texting when literally all of their friends are in the same building, so Bucky thinks fast and lies that it _is_ just his mom. Satisfied with that answer, Clint continues with his story – the rest of their table still listening – and Bucky… Well, not so much anymore.

 ** _Couldn’t you get caught texting me right now? ;)_** ,he replies. **_With all those people around? Put your phone away before we get in trouble._**

He says that, but Bucky’s _really_ hoping Steve won’t listen and will text him back. He tries to glance around as inconspicuously as he can to see which table the teachers are at, but without any luck. He wonders if Steve can see _him_. A little shiver dances up his back at the thought. His phone stays in his lap, just so that if Steve _does_ reply, none of his friends will see his name pop up on the screen.

About two minutes later and Bucky gets another text: **_Not even away from me for a DAY and already you think you can give me orders. I’ll remember that._**

The implication of Steve’s threat gets Bucky pressing down against his chair. A deep, quiet breath stops him from moaning. He tries to scan the room again, but gets the same result. He has no fucking idea where Steve’s sitting, and it’s driving him crazy to know he’s so, so close but completely off bounds. He might as well be on the other side of the continent.

But getting to talk to him at all feels so fucking good; lets Bucky drop that façade he shows to the rest of the world – where no one would ever guess that he gets off on the things he does – and indulge in who he _really_ is. Get what he _really_ wants without shame.

**_I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean it. Didn’t mean the comment earlier either, I was just playing. Please don’t punish me._ **

He grins again when Steve answers and tells him exactly what he wants to hear, just as Bucky was hoping he would: **_No. Bad little boys need to learn their lesson. But if you beg for me sweetly, I’ll make sure you love it even more than I will._**

A million scenarios race through his mind. Would Steve do something new to him – _oh god_ , what might he do? Paddling? They haven’t tried that yet, maybe… Maybe temperature play? That seemed to be something Steve was interested in trying. What if his revenge is to torture Bucky with a whole night of forced, multiple orgasms? Or - or maybe he’ll resort to something he already knows turns Bucky stupid, like that one night where he forced Bucky to wait so long to come that he almost forgot his own name…

 ** _Jesus, you must be really fucking horny if you’re willing to say all that with all your friends around,_** Bucky texts back, teasing; chest getting hotter beneath his suit. He’ll have to remove his jacket soon if they keep this up. For a minute or so, he keeps habitually glancing back down at their opened conversation, hoping for that little chat bubble to pop back up to show that Steve’s typing something back.

However, it takes a little longer for Steve to reply this time, so eventually Bucky shuts off his screen again and rejoins chatting with his friends. The dinner plates are taken away, and before Bucky knows it, the Tribeca staff returns to serve them their dessert. Cheesecake is on the menu; one of Bucky’s favorites. When he bites into it – creamy and sweet, bursting all along his taste buds – he notes that it’s actually not bad.

That’s an understatement. On the contrary, it’s _really fucking good_ , which is kind of a shock. When it comes to cheesecake, Bucky’s a bit of a shameless snob. In his opinion, most places can’t seem to nail it. Most of the time, it’ll be good, but not _great._ Then again, some places in New York really set the bar high, so it’s a tough act to follow. Tribeca Rooftop might very well deserve a place up in his top three.

Humming loudly in approval, Bucky nods his head as everyone around him likewise begins to dig in and jokes, “Okay, ten years from now? This right here might very well be my best memory I have about prom.”

“I always love the food here,” Kitty says, agreeing. “I came here for my cousin’s wedding once and it was just as good.”

“Yeah, we celebrated Uncle Ben’s fiftieth here, too,” Parker chimes in. “I tried the crème brûlée and just about came in my pants.”

“I’m gonna come in my pants _now_ ,” Quill moans. “This is better than any sex I’ve ever had. Jesus Christ, marry me to this cake please.”

Ben snorts. “That’s really sad, bro.”

“I feel bad for whoever’s slept with you, if that’s the case,” Bucky says, laughing.

Quill just shakes his head, undeterred as he lifts up another forkful of cheesecake and eyes it as if the thing were the lord himself. “Whatever man, I don’t even _care_ ,” he replies. Staring at the cake, it’s like he’s vowing to it directly, “I don’t think I could love a human baby more than I’m in love right now.” Shoving it between his lips, his eyes flutter shut and he moans. _Loudly_.

They all break out into a fit of laughter when Bucky’s phone softly vibrates again. This time, Natasha notices. She flashes Bucky a secretive little smirk and he winks at her in response, still smiling, before glancing down to his screen.

**_Can you blame me? Look at you. Seriously, you look fucking incredible. I thought you said you weren’t gonna be too dressed up. (P.S. I’m not a big fan of cheesecake, but this stuff might convert me.)_ **

**_I’m not lmao_** , Bucky types back. It’s a good thing he’s already got the perfect excuse to be smiling right now, otherwise he’d look like a love-struck dope. **_(P.S. you don’t like cheesecake?????? That’s it, relationship terminated.)_**

 ** _I liked THIS one, doesn’t that count for something? :P And seriously, if that’s your idea of “not dressed up”, then I don’t think I could survive the full thing_** , Steve replies. Another text arrives before Bucky can even start to answer the first one: **_You got no idea how beautiful you are <3 Took my breath away, not even joking._**

Bucky blushes. **_Thank you Stevie… <3 I guess we don’t HAVE to break up ;)_** _._ He hits Send, but then finds himself pausing. The longer he’s staring at his screen, the more his smile slowly tapers off into a frown.

It feels like forever since he and Steve spoke so lightheartedly – flirted so playfully with each other – even though it’s only really been no more than a week. He can’t stop re-reading Steve’s last text, feeling guilt lurch around in his stomach, because… because he hasn’t meant to, and he _knows_ Steve would never be upset at him over it, but Bucky’s really been putting him through the ringer the last few days. Emotionally, he can’t even begin to imagine what must be going through Steve’s head; how it must feel to be this worried and not have any real answers.

And Bucky already knows better than anyone that the protectiveness Steve feels for him is only amplified _more_ by the unique nature of their relationship. The fact that – even if they don’t call him that in such specific terms – Steve is just as much Bucky’s _Dominant_ as he is his boyfriend. It’s in his bones to want to shelter Bucky from harm, even more so than it would be for _normal_ people. It makes sense. They were never normal.

The truth is, Bucky’s been so wrapped up in… well, _himself_ … All the ‘what ifs’ that haven’t even happened yet. The ones he’s been so goddamn certain _would_ happen, but even then, doesn’t know for sure that they _will._ He hasn’t taken the time to stop nearly as much as he should have to consider how all of this might be affecting Steve. And Bucky knows he’s allowed to feel the way he does, and he knows that Steve won’t push. He’ll continue to be nothing but supportive. But still…

His thumbs start moving again, and Bucky sends off another text: **_Look… I’m sorry about earlier. I’m sorry again for being so weird lately. I love you so much. Please don’t ever forget that. I love you. I promise we’ll talk soon about everything. But you didn’t do anything, okay?_**

There’s not much time left until Bucky knows the music will be cranked up and dancing will start. He can spot the servers waiting again nearby, giving everyone a few more minutes to finish dessert before they clean up the last of the dishes from the tables. It won’t be _as_ easy to have his phone out and continue his and Steve’s conversation once his friends pull him to the dance floor, which is a guarantee to happen.

Immediately after pressing Send a second time, half of Bucky regrets sending off that last message when he knows they don’t have the opportunity to properly get into it. Maybe that wasn’t exactly fair of him… But the other half just _really_ needed to get that off of his chest. He just wants Steve to understand.

It’s unfiltered relief that floods through him when Steve texts back not even a minute later, **_Baby, please stop apologizing. There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m here whenever you need me, okay? I love you more than you could ever know. And I know you love me, sweetheart. Never think for a second that I don’t. Now quit worrying about me and just have fun! You only get one prom, enjoy your time with your friends. I like seeing you having a good time. :) You’ve worked hard, you deserve this!_**

He wishes he was that deserving of Steve’s kindness and understanding. Bucky knows he’s been a lot to handle over the last week, especially since he’s been so uncharacteristically closed off about it on top of that. If things had been the other way around, Bucky feels guilty that he doesn’t honestly know if he’d be as capable of handling it with as much generosity as Steve has given him.

Bucky hopes that when finally _do_ talk, Steve’s willing to fight for this with him and make things work. He wants the chance to be able to make sure he gives all that back and then some. Bucky will give Steve the entire world, he swears it.

He shouldn’t be obsessing over all that right now, though. Even if Bucky _wanted_ to suddenly gather his nerve and have that talk he’s been avoiding like the plague, he couldn’t. That’s just the way it is. But it’s comforting in a way; takes the responsibility off his shoulders to know that now really isn’t the time. Soon it will be, but not tonight – tonight, Bucky has an excuse to forget for just a little bit longer and prolong the real world.

He tries to remember what Steve had told him about baby steps. Taking things one at a time. Bucky can worry himself to death come morning. For now, Steve just wants him to have a good time. That’s what his friends want, and really, that’s all that Bucky wants, too. There are still positives, he tells himself.

Bucky survived four years of high school – filled with ups and downs, drama and memories – and he’s at prom, with his best friends in the world and the love of his life. Steve’s still _there_ , which is better than nothing. He’s dressed to the nines, and has that beautiful plug stuffing him full, and Steve’s eyes will be on him – like his come, his claim, is _in_ him – when Bucky will get to dance, he’s sure of it. So many people he loves are in this room with him, and he just had some of the best cheesecake he can remember having in years, and he still has the after party at Natasha’s to look forward to as well.

Yeah, _positives_ … Bucky’s heart feels a little less heavy. There _are_ so many positives when he actually stops and forces himself to acknowledge them. It’s so easy to become blinded to them when things start to become chaotic; to only feel capable of seeing the _bad_ because the bad screams so much louder than the good. But what was it his dad had told him as a kid…?

_‘The sun’s always there, even behind the clouds.’_

There is always good; always positives if you’re willing to find them. Tonight, those are the things that matter more. Bucky can do that – for everyone around him, but more importantly, for himself. He’ll get through tonight, and then talk to Steve tomorrow. And Natasha and Clint, and… He’ll tell his parents his choice. He made it months ago, he’s just been trying to run from it. But he can do it, so he will. He’ll talk to everyone, and he has to tell himself everything will be okay.

A smile curls up one corner of his mouth when the music returns to life, just as the staff are disappearing with the last of the dishes. Just dance – that’s all he needs to focus on right now. Lose himself in the beat; one of the places he likes to be best. Dance. Be with friends. Know that Steve’s watching. Have fun. Baby steps. It feels quite simple when he breaks it down that way. He makes a mental note to thank Steve again later for giving him that piece of advice.

People are already beginning to gravitate to the dance floor. It’s not packed yet, so most of the ‘dancing’ going on is nothing but awkward swaying and ill-timed bounces to the beat, but Bucky knows it just needs a few minutes to warm up. A big part of him wants to join the small crowd and try to get the party started. From his peripherals, he notices that Natasha’s eyeing it with a similar eagerness. It’s a dancer thing, Bucky’s always assumed. The moment dancing’s involved in even the _slightest_ way, and the two of them are the first ones diving right in and turning it into a show.

At the same time, the other part of him is heavily debating ducking out for a smoke first. He prefers hitting the dance floor when it’s a little livelier. So he takes a breath and then announces, “Alright, I’m going for a smoke, be right back. Get your dancin’ shoes on, ‘cause when I come back, I expect you all to join me.”

Not everyone in their group is a dancer, and like always, the second Bucky says that is the second half the table erupts into groans and complaints. Parker dances like an electrocuted deer on ice, and Ben just hates dancing, period, so they’re the ones already trying their hardest to protest.

Bucky merely shrugs and rises from his chair, still smirking harmlessly as he says, undeterred, “Still expect ya to dance with us! It’s _prom_ , for Christ’s sake – be a pissbaby all you want, but I’m still draggin’ your asses out there.”

Quill slaps a hand on Parker’s shoulder with a full-toothed grin, trying to sway him when he says, “C’mon buddy, it’ll be fun. Hey! Tell you what: we can have a dance off, and you can be on _my_ team!”

Parker stares back, unblinking, before insisting with even more vehemence, “Yeah, definitely not dancing now.”

While Quill feigns offense, Ben’s still shaking his head – arms crossed – and repeating for the dozenth time about why he doesn’t dance, and how it’ll be ‘a cold day in hell before they can get him up there’. Bucky’s pulling his cigarette case from his inner breast pocket, rolling his eyes but choosing not to take any of the bait.

All he keeps repeating is, “Okay, _okay_ ,” without sounding all that convinced. Ben always puts on a bit of a performance whenever this happens, but then he comes around. He pretends to loathe every second of it, mind you, but he still tends to join them. The trick with him is _not_ to actually try too hard; he needs to feel like it was his idea.

Parker, on the other hand, is probably already on board, he just needs a little more coaxing before he’ll admit it. He’s just shy about it because he’s _seriously_ uncoordinated, but none of them care about that. Just like what Bucky keeps telling himself, it’s just about having fun. Still, they know Parker can feel pretty self-conscious about it, so Bucky likewise won’t push too hard.

“Look what you’ve done,” Natasha mutters to him jokingly, “they’ve dissolved into anarchy. Don’t expect me to clean this up.”

Bucky laughs, leaning down towards her. “You’re the mama bear of the group, of course I expect you to get the children in line,” he teases affectionately, planting a smacking kiss to the side of her head.

Without even so much as peering over to him, she lifts a hand and whacks him on the arm. She’s smirking herself, though. “You’re the reason I have headaches,” she deadpans.

“I love you, too,” Bucky coos back, sweet as honey. As he straightens back up, he glances to Clint. “You comin’?”

It only lasts a fraction of a second, but Bucky catches a momentary trace of envy in Clint’s eyes, clearly having been on the two of them just now. Bucky remembers himself – as well as their conversation from earlier – and thinks, _Shit_.

It’s not like little things like that mean a thing between him and Natasha. That’s exactly the point Bucky had been trying to make to him. Still, given what Clint had confessed to, Bucky should’ve really been more conscientious. The last thing he wants is for Clint to potentially feel like Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about his feelings.

Luckily, Clint may be as dramatic as the rest of them, but he knows how to pick his battles. More than that, he knows _Bucky_ well enough to know that that had to be harmless, and not in any way meant to rub his and Natasha’s friendship in Clint’s face. So he’s throwing on a smile and nodding, replying, “Sure, might as well,” before rising out of his chair and joining him.

As they turn and begin heading towards the entrance way, Bucky sighs. “Sorry, dude.”

“Why’re you apologizing?” asks Clint, and Bucky’s surprised that it sounds like a genuine question.

Bucky shrugs again. “I dunno, just… for back there, I guess? Like… I know my friendship with Nat can seem a little…”

“Intimate?”

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t know ‘till you said anything that some of you actually thought we were into each other like that.”

As they talk and walk, Bucky’s trying to keep subtle about sneaking glances to all the people around them, hoping to catch a glimpse of Steve. But it’s not long before they’re reaching the door, and Steve’s still just as lost in the crowd as he’d been during dinner. Bucky only feels a little bit of disappointment, and even then, he pushes it down. They head to the stairs.

“Look,” he continues, “all I’m sayin’ is, you’re my bro. You _have_ been for most of my life. And, like – ‘kay, if you told me I wasn’t allowed to act the way I do around Nat, I’d tell you to go fuck yourself. You know I would.”

Clint barks out a laugh, and Bucky grins. But still he explains, “But at the same time, I just wanna make sure you know that I’d _never_ do anything shady like that to you. When I tell you it’s not like that between us, and it never will be, I’m bein’ honest. And _especially_ knowing how you feel about her? Dude, I’d never betray you like that. I mean, you know that, right?”

They reach the front door and push it open, stepping back outside. Clint’s quiet for a few seconds, but then nods as he pulls out his own pack of cigarettes.

“I’m just being a bit of a bitch,” he admits, smiling guiltily. “I know you’d never do shit like that. You know, what you and Nat have – am I jealous of it sometimes? _Yeah_ , sure, but… that’s on me, not you guys. I dunno. Maybe a part of me just wishes I could have something like that with her, too.”

“You have to actually make a move in order to find that out, y’know,” Bucky points out, trying to be helpful.

Clint rolls his eyes. “I _know_ that, smartass. I guess – I just don’t want to risk fucking up whatever it is we have now. Like, I may not be as close as you two are, and that’s fine, but she’s still one of my closest friends. What if she said no?”

Bucky hadn’t thought of that, namely because he’d be legitimately shocked if she did. But he supposes it’s a good point to consider. Taking a drag off his smoke, he thinks about it and then shrugs one shoulder. “Then she says no,” he answers. Clint shoots him a look that reads, _Wow, thanks for the pep talk_ , so he chuckles and quickly adds, “I mean, would that suck ass? Yes, obviously – but my point is, so what? You tellin’ me if you asked her out and she shot you down that you wouldn’t wanna be her friend anymore?”

“No,” Clint answers immediately. Frowning, he shakes his head and tells Bucky, “She’s allowed not to feel the same way. It’d fucking _hurt_ , but she doesn’t owe me anything.”

Bucky reluctantly nods in agreement. He’d feel fucking _awful_ if he helped encourage Clint to finally ask her out only for her to say no, but he also can’t deny that Natasha is absolutely _not_ obligated to say yes if she doesn’t want to. They share eye contact for a brief moment, and then Clint nods in return and goes back to staring down at the concrete.

“It’d probably be awkward for a while, but I wouldn’t want it to be,” he admits. Bucky watches him flick at the filter of his smoke a few times with his thumb, which Bucky knows from experience to be an anxious habit. Then Clint asks him, “Do you think it’d fuck up our friendship? Me and Nat’s, I mean?”

“No, I don’t,” Bucky answers in earnest. “I know you two, and I know her. If you don’t make it weird, neither will she. But hey, you don’t know what’ll happen ‘till you try, right? Maybe she’ll say no, maybe she won’t. But there’s no harm in asking. I think you’re getting ahead of yourself again; just being honest here. Maybe don’t freak yourself out about that shit right now and just… start simple and ask her if she wants to dance, like I said.”

“Yeah, guess so…”

“And when you two have babies one day, I expect your firstborn to be named after me as a token of gratitude for settin’ you two up,” Bucky then says, trying to lighten the mood.

It seems to work when it elicits a short snort from Clint. “Does your head _ever_ get a breather from being so far up your ass, or…?”

Bucky keeps going, “I’m just saying, James Barton has a great ring to it.”

“Mhm, and what happens if it’s a girl?”

“Then Jamie still works. I’m tellin’ you, I came armed and prepared for this shit.”

“I’m not naming any of my children after you, Barnes. I wouldn’t even name my dog after you.”

“But--”

“Nope.”

“Okay, _but_ \--”

“Nope.”

Bucky lets out a long, drawn out sigh. Laying on his pout thick, he declares, “ _Fine_ , then I’ll just steal the birth certificate and do it myself.”

Clint shakes his head to himself at that, inhaling one last puff out of his smoke and letting that suffice as his answer. He’s fighting a pretty hard smile, though, so that makes Bucky feel better; like he did his job right. After they pitch them and start to head back inside, Bucky adds in all seriousness, “Just don’t ever tell her I said that, please? She’d probably skin me alive.”

“Oh no, I’d have every intention of telling her,” Clint quips. “I’d be the one with the popcorn, watching in the background.”

“Thanks,” Bucky flatly mutters, “you’re such a great friend.”

“You think if I filmed it, it’d go viral on YouTube?”

Bucky gives him a light shove, but then answers, “Throw a kitten somewhere in there, and probably.”

* * *

It takes a lot longer than Bucky had expected for more people to actually start dancing. When he and Clint first show back up to their friends, he’s surprised to find them all – even Natasha – still sitting right where they’d left them. So, they sit back down, too. Every time Bucky looks back to the section of the room designated for dancing, he’s disappointed to see the same small number of people. In fact, in terms of fluctuation, it only seems to either stay the same or _decrease._

Beneath the table, he’s bouncing his knee impatiently. It makes the plug jostle against his rim in a way that’s both pleasurable and frustratingly annoying, but he can’t help but continue doing it because _he just wants to dance already._ He wants to be able to melt into the rhythm, and tease Steve the only way he knows how right now, and be a little shit, and be able to taste the promise of whatever punishment Steve would give him right on the tip of his tongue. Having to stay seated like this, he’s feeling restless.

But the thing is, even though he knows that Natasha would probably join him if he headed over to the dance floor, and even though he also knows that Quill would probably be quick to follow, he knows the rest of their friends wouldn’t. Without a bigger crowd to blend into, it’d feel too awkward; like the rest of their graduating class would be staring and judging the way teenagers know how to best.

Bucky wouldn’t have minded. On the contrary, the less people around him would mean less people obscuring Steve’s view of him. But he also doesn’t want to be selfish and ditch his friends. Ultimately, it means he stays put. So, for another half hour or so, they chat among themselves – their other friends sitting at the surrounding tables pulling up chairs to expand the circle – and at the very least, it allows Bucky a bit more time to be able to text with Steve, too.

It turns out the chaperons’ table was on the other end of the room, which explains why it’d been impossible for Bucky to track him down from where he was sitting. Bucky’s favorite part of the conversation is when it turns to the whole dancing thing, Bucky mentions how much he wishes he could get even one dance with Steve, only for Steve to reveal something Bucky can’t believe he never knew about him:

**_Oh god, trust me, you wouldn’t want to dance with me even if you could. I’m the absolute worst._ **

Bucky’s brows furrow while he reads Steve’s words, still smiling. He replies, **_You can’t dance?_**

 ** _Two left feet_** , Steve answers. **_I’m not even slightly joking. I’m awful. It’s so bad it’s not even funny or cute, it’s just uncomfortable for everybody._**

For whatever reason, Bucky finds that to be absolutely fucking _adorable_. He tries to imagine the extent of just how bad Steve could possibly be, and the mental image his brain concocts is so ridiculous that he almost bursts out laughing right there in front of everyone, apropos of nothing. He’s able to stifle it down, and instead texts back: **_I’m sure you’re exaggerating :P Proof or I don’t believe you._**

**_No, I’m completely serious. I don’t dance. I’d rather eat my own hat than dance in front of anybody._ **

**_You don’t even wear a hat lmao_** , Bucky points out. He can’t even slightly taper the lovesick smile he’s currently wearing. He’s just thankful that there’re so many people now crowded at the table, all distracted, that no one notices.

He seriously doesn’t know why learning that random piece of information makes him feel like he’s just gone and fallen even _more_ in love with Steve. Maybe it’s because Steve’s always struck him as just – so _perfect_. Unfairly so; capable of anything and everything.

So to know that there are in fact things he’s bad at just makes him even more human. And yet… his imperfections only manage to make Steve even _more_ perfect in Bucky’s eyes. Jesus Christ, does Steve even _try_ to be this precious or is it all by accident?

His phone vibrates again and this time, Bucky _does_ snort to himself when he reads Steve’s reply: **_Yeah, and it’s probably because I ate it at some point to keep from dancing ;)_**.

**_Hmm. Well what if I taught you someday…? 0:)_ **

Bucky pictures it, not knowing he needed something like that in his life until just that very second. It’s not often he gets to be the more experienced one and lead the way, and getting to help teach Steve something Bucky’s always been so passionate about would be such a special thing for them both. They could start simple, too – just teach Steve a simple box step so, at the very least, they could one day dance together to something slow, romantic…

He probably shouldn’t be at all surprised when Steve’s answer is, **_Not a chance lol Sorry baby, it’s nothing to do with you. It’s really just not my thing. Trust me, people have tried to teach me. I’m just not wired for it. I can’t even do the macarena without fucking it up lol_**.

Bucky almost starts pouting right in front of all his friends – until he remembers that Steve’s not even there to _see_ it, which would render it pretty pointless. This would be stupidly easy if they were together (and _alone_ ). Bucky’s very good at being persuasive when he wants something, and Steve knows this better than anyone.

Goddamnit, Bucky’s definitely at a disadvantage when he can’t simply drop to his knees and ask _again_ – but this time making sure he’d be staring up just the right way, pitching his voice so Steve’s knees would go weak. On Steve’s end, it must feel even easier than usual to say no when he doesn’t actually have to meet Bucky’s puppy dog eyes.

He tries to make that translate into his next text: **_But maybe I’d be a better teacher :(_**

The reply bubble pops up and then disappears a few times, like Steve isn’t completely sure what to say, but then he seems to settle with joking, **_If you ever saw me dance, you’d never think I was sexy again :P_**

 ** _Pshh, impossible_** , Bucky argues. **_I mean, I might laugh at you, but it’d be a LOVING kind of laugh._**

 ** _That’s really not making me wanna say yes any more, Buck_**.

Bucky plays with his bottom lip beneath his top teeth. Lips pursing slightly into a playful smile, he answers back: **_K fiiiiiine, be a big baby. Know you’ve broken my poor little heart </3 But whenever the day comes that we’re getting hitched, I AM teaching you how to slow dance. Don’t think you can get away with not dancing with me at our own wedding, mister._**

Five minutes pass, and Steve still hasn’t replied. During this time, Miss Hill winds up taking the mic and making a quick announcement that the winners of Prom King and Queen will finally be revealed shortly. That gets half the table buzzing excitedly about _that_ , with the other half – Bucky included – still not giving much of a shit.

It’s just a popularity contest anyways, flaunting in everyone else’s faces: ‘Here are the two most liked people in your grade, and guess what? You’re _neither_ of them. My apologies to your self-esteem.’ The only reason Bucky would care even a little is that once the King and Queen have _their_ dances, maybe more people will finally join in and do the same.

While everyone waits, Bucky can’t help but continue to check his phone, and here and there lifts his chin up to scan the room for Steve. Just like last time, he stillcan’t seem to spot him. When he leans over to Natasha and asks in a whisper if maybe _she_ can track him down from where she’s sitting, Natasha tries and produces the exact same results. Bucky sighs and leans back against his chair, pocketing his phone.

He wonders if maybe he crossed some sort of line he hadn’t even realized _was_ a line. Maybe Steve was really sensitive about his bad dancing for legitimate reasons Bucky didn’t know about, and Bucky pushing brought back some bad memories? Maybe Bucky’s harmless joke about laughing at him wasn’t taken so harmlessly.

At the same time, he also can’t help but feel weirdly offended at the idea that their own wedding wouldn’t even be enough to convince Steve to dance with him. Of course, then he feels _stupid_ for letting himself get riled up about something like that when he’s spent the last week convincing himself that their relationship would be coming to an end soon anyways. One second he’s telling himself it’s bound to crash into flames and then the next, he’s turning right around and talking about things like _weddings._

It’s no wonder he’s getting such emotional whiplash lately – Bucky’s head and his heart can’t seem come to some sort of mutual understanding. Bucky fucking wishes they would, ‘cause at this point it’s beyond exhausting.

Sighing to himself, Bucky realizes that he’s being ridiculous – _seriously, is he getting touchy about a wedding that might or might not even happen, in who knows_ how _many years even if it did?_ Rationally, the only reason Steve probably hasn’t replied is most likely because he was suddenly in a situation where he couldn’t risk pulling out his phone again. He is a chaperon, after all. That requires actually doing his job and chaperoning. Not being glued all night to his cellphone.

It’s that simple. Nothing to even do with Bucky, so he needs to stop taking everything so personally; stop reading into shit that’s not there and assuming the worst

It’s probably just because, again, he knows Steve is so close – and yet the guy is so far – that’s making Bucky get all weird. It’s tough when every movement reminds him of all those hickeys hiding under his clothes, or the fact that Steve had fucked Bucky to _subspace_ just that very afternoon and then plugged him up, and now he’s there, and Bucky just wants to be _near_ him. Touch him. Smile at him. Talk to him. Yield and preen and submit and _god_ … Bucky shivers, and that’s when he decides he needs a distraction.

He excuses himself from the table to go and get some more punch. Fuck it – once the whole King and Queen bullshit is over, Bucky’s dancing, regardless of who else joins him or not. His graduating class seems to be sprinkled in chunks all around the hall, mostly keeping to their own cliques at their own tables, or standing in groups, essentially doing the exact same thing.

Bucky gets caught up several times on his way to the food table, responding whenever his name gets called out and then falling into random conversation with acquaintances or ‘sort of’ buddies for a couple of minutes. Bucky’s always preferred his group of friends to the designated ‘in crowd’, but he’s always been fairly popular himself, too. Getting stopped so often isn’t out of the norm for him.

Everyone knows Bucky and everyone likes him – a combination created because Bucky’s basically _friends_ with everyone in turn, and because he made himself quite the… _reputation_ , over the years. These days, Bucky likes to believe it’s because of the former that he’s considered popular. He doesn’t tend to give it much thought.

When he finally manages to make it through the jungle of people and get to where he’s going, it’s just him at the punch bowl and Jane Foster down at the other end, keeping to herself as she fills her plate with some fruit. After shooting her a glance, Bucky pours himself a new glass of punch and downs it from right where he’s standing. He decides to refill his cup for another. Out of the corner of his eye, someone walks up to the table, directly to his left.

“So,” Steve’s voice asks, soft and lilting, “teach me how to dance for our wedding, huh?” Casually, he takes a paper cup and then reaches with his free hand for the ladle Bucky’s still holding. “You finished with that?” he asks conversationally.

Bucky’s eyes widen, Steve of all people suddenly standing next to him having startled him. Instantly, his pulse is quickening, and in his attempt to stop himself from breaking into a full-on smile, his cheeks grow hot with a blush. Replying just as quietly, Bucky hands him the ladle and says, “Oh, yeah. Here.”

He watches Steve fill up his own cup. Once it’s full, he doesn’t discard the ladle. Instead, he skims it over the punch just enough to get a few more tablespoons’ worth at best, before letting his hand linger there, the dipper hovering above the punch as if he’s waiting for something. When Steve then meets his eyes, Bucky realizes he’s silently asking if Bucky wants his own topped up.

That blush on Bucky’s cheeks crawls to the tips of his ears. It’s the littlest thing, but it’s still Steve offering to do something to make Bucky feel like Steve’s taking care of him, and it _works_. He nods, having to clear his throat so his voice doesn’t crack when he says, “Um, sure. Thank you, sir,” and holds up his paper cup.

Steve smiles to himself as he tips the dipper and carefully fills it the rest of the way. Once he places it back in the bowl, he commands, as effortless and subtle as the pro Bucky’s taught him to be, “Start filling up a plate.”

At first, Bucky doesn’t get it. He gives Steve a confused look and starts to say, “Uh, we all _just_ ate…” when Steve picks up a paper plate anyways and hands it to him with a knowing look.

“I’m not telling you to eat, I’m telling you to fill up a plate,” he replies, choosing his words deliberately.  

 _Oh_ … _Oh!_ Steve’s creating an opportunity for them to have a justifiable excuse to stay at the table together for just a little bit longer. Bucky eyebrows shoot up and he whispers, “Ohhh, okay. Good idea. Heh, whoops.”

Steve’s smile gets even warmer as Bucky takes the plate being offered to him. Steve picks up a second one for himself, and they start taking their leisurely time perusing the table. Normally, Bucky would feel bad about knowingly wasting food, but chances are if he abandons the plate at his table, Quill or Ben will polish it off at some point in the evening. Bucky can always pick at it whenever he starts to feel peckish.

“So you didn’t answer my question,” Steve points out. His tone is buoyant, like he’s that much happier just by having this rare opportunity to stand next to Bucky again at all. Bucky definitely understands. Just getting this much time with him at all is already one of the highlights of his night, as sad as that may be.

And that simple thing, it serves as that much more of a reminder to Bucky that he can never let this man go. Not when he means this much to him, not ever. All he needs is Steve by his side –just as he is now – to fully grasp the understanding that there’s no one else in the world Bucky ever wants to traverse life with but him. All the determination he’d felt minutes before regarding the future returns with full force. _God_ , Bucky… Bucky just loves him so much. Too much, maybe. But he doesn’t care.

With butterflies flittering around like crazy in his belly, he murmurs back, “You mean you’d _let_ me teach you?” Making sure Steve can see his lopsided smile and know his jab is innocuous, he continues, “I thought you’d rather eat your own hat than dance in from of anyone.”

Steve casts his gaze over his shoulder, making sure they’re still in the clear. Continuing their nonchalant little charade, Bucky reaches for a bun, his plate about halfway full. Turning his head and looking forward again, Steve moves fluently and makes a point to ‘accidentally’ reach out for the same thing, just so their fingers can bump together. Bucky swallows, his heartbeat in his temples as he lets his hand linger there, unsure whether he should pull it back or not. Wishing he could spread his fingers enough for Steve to slide his own between the spaces.

Steve’s eyes are still on the food when he says, “For the happiest day of my life, I think I could make an exception,” but his thumb still purposely brushes across Bucky’s knuckle before Steve retracts his hand. It’s barely the sensation of a feather tickling the surface, a ginger caress, but it makes the nerves in Bucky’s skin buzz straight to life in his wake. This might as well be foreplay to them – and it’s _working_.

Everything is meant to appear innocent, but holds deeper intent. Steve changes the subject and asks how Bucky’s night is going, and he waits until he knows Bucky’s looking at him to conveniently lean forward to reach for some veggies at the back of the table. It takes Bucky all of about a second to understand what Steve wanted him to see: that tattoo right below his collar bone, peeking out thanks to Steve having undone the top few buttons of his dress shirt. Bucky’s favorite.

No one else sees Steve’s ink but him, no one. Now there’s the possibility that others might notice – and Bucky both _hopes_ they do and doesn’t _want_ them to. He wants everyone to drool over Mr. Rogers, and go home tonight to fantasize about him and his fucking _face_ and his fucking _body_ and the craving to find out just how much more he’s hiding underneath. The very same idea also pisses Bucky off and makes him feel possessive.

It’s a mind-fuck is what it is; smacks Bucky in the face with just how goddamn _hot_ this man is, and that Bucky can’t do a thing about it at the moment. He’s clenching around his plug, fighting to keep from whimpering.

“Tease,” he mumbles under his breath, now glaring.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve replies, innocent but with an air of satisfaction turning up the corners of his mouth. Bucky can practically see the horns atop his head propping up that sham of a halo.

He decides to go along with it. “S’too bad I won’t be able to do that exact same thing later. M’gonna be sweatin’ balls doing all that dancing, but… some asshole gave me a hickey, so. Not an option anymore.”

Steve mouth twitches. With a small nod to himself, he asks, playing stupid, “Just the one?”

Bucky glances down to his plate. Smirk turning shy, he shrugs. “Or two,” he casually says.

“Or two?” Steve parrots, staring at him from the corner of his eye, brow just the tiniest bit arched. Expectant. Knowing better, just wanting to hear Bucky’s say it.

Resolve breaking, Bucky smiles bigger and exhales a soft chortle. “Okay, like, fifty.”

However, his smile immediately fades when he goes to meet Steve’s gaze and realizes Steve’s staring at his mouth. There’s no smile on his own face. Nothing there but unfiltered hunger and something dark, something burning away in the blues of his eyes that always makes Bucky ache to be filthy.

So because that’s where Steve’s staring, Bucky teases right back; sweeps his tongue across the swell of his bottom lip before biting his top teeth down into the corner. Just for a second. Just enough to watch the bob of Steve’s Adam’s apple as he swallows; to watch his lips part with a barely audible exhale directly after.

Steve’s eyes finally flicker up to his, and Bucky doesn’t blink when he softens his tone and murmurs, “Can feel them everywhere, sir. And your plug, it feels so nice, every time I move. You put it so fuckin’ deep.”

“Jesus,” Steve groans, so much air in it that it gets swallowed up by the rest of the room’s noise.

“Am I being good for you so far, sir?” Bucky asks. Now he does blink, meticulously in fact. Plays up his part, just how Steve likes it.

Steve regards him silently, before he redirects his stare over his shoulder again. When he looks back to Bucky, he seems to remember himself and where they are, and throws back on another polite, unassuming smile. “Tighten,” is all he says.

Bucky tips his head, not understanding. “What?”

“Just do it,” Steve presses. Once more his gaze flickers past Bucky, and his expression stays casually neutral when he repeats, “ _Tighten_. Now.”

 _Oh, Christ_ , it’s an order. Bucky’s body reacts purely on instinct and he does as he’s told, focusing only on the muscles around his rim as he flexes down again around the base of the plug, hard.

This time, when he ducks his head down and bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut for only a moment, it’s entirely because he can’t help it. It’s the only way to stifle himself and control the nearly painful urge to start begging Steve to find some place with him to sneak off to, so Steve can fuck him senseless.

“Yeah baby, you’re good for me,” Steve then answers, aroused and proud – but also with a hint of finality in his tone. Bucky realizes he’s turning around to _leave._

“I swear to god, you pick right _now_ to walk away--” Bucky starts to threaten, but that’s when he turns his head and notices that Steve’s been making eye contact with Mr. Wilson, who’s heading towards them. Fuck. Guess they don’t have a choice.

Steve spares him one last glance and quickly whispers, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Can’t wait to see you dance. Love you.” He winks so fast that Bucky almost misses it, but then to his frustration, Steve is taking his plate and walking away from him, over to his friend.

“Do you ever stop eating?” he can hear Mr. Wilson laugh. “I swear, you’re the man with the bottomless stomach. I hope some of that is for me!”

Steve’s voice is already further away when Bucky faintly hears him reply, “Just got a high metabolism, what can I say?” and then something about Tony, and then Bucky can’t make it out anymore over all the other conversations going on in the room.

Awesome. He’s left standing there with a semi and a plate of food he doesn’t even feel like eating, that’s just terrific. Now he’s restless _and_ horny as fuck. He hates Steve for being such a teasing bastard about as much as he adores him for it. Right now, he just can’t tell which one he feels more.

At least one of the problems disappears by the time Bucky’s back at his table. The other one, he dumps into the middle of the table, up for grabs to whoever wants it as he sits back down. Natasha peers over to him with a question in her eyes. Clearly she put two and two together and figured out why Bucky was gone. He meets her eyes, his own expression flat; no two ways about it that he’s clearly sexually frustrated.

All he does is huff and shake his head in response. That’s all Natasha needs to purse her lips into a smirk, looking away and unable to stop herself from being mildly amused. Yeah, must be _nice_ for her to find it so entertaining – Bucky on the other hand can’t _stop_ tightening around his plug now, and it’s driving him fucking batshit.

Around them, most of his friends are still so full that the sight of all that food Bucky’s returned with has them moaning with distress, asking him how the fuck he could _still_ be hungry. Right on cue, though, Quill grins at the sight of what Bucky had picked at random and exclaims, “Ooh, watermelon!” before snatching it up. He must have a bottomless stomach like Steve.

Bucky tries to get sucked back up into chatting with his friends, while he focuses on his breathing and counts each one out in his head. Anything to relax himself and stop. Fucking. Clenching. Steve is such a shit – he’ll be the death of Bucky, he just knows it. It’s definitely an unfair advantage that he can wind _Bucky_ up just as easily as Bucky can dish it out in return.

Every time his muscles squeeze the plug and hug it close, Bucky can make out every single inch of its shape. Feel it in the pit of his stomach. Even thinks he can actually feel the heat of Steve’s come still trapped up his ass, coating his insides. Sometimes it presses just a _little_ too close for comfort against his prostate, sparking the beginnings of that usual jolt of lightning at the base of his spine.

Luckily so far, Bucky’s always been able to shift quick enough to stop the sensation before it makes proper contact. Lord knows if _that_ happened, it’d be damn near impossible to control whatever his reaction was. He’d probably do something humiliating like _cry out_ in front of everyone, or start whining, or… _god_ , who knows. And the worst part is that that humiliation would only make Bucky _more_ turned on, the more mortified he became. It’s all just a recipe for disaster, so – no prostate teasing, to the best of his ability. It’s just not easy.

Especially at the moment.

Oh, he is going to get Steve back for this. And he knows _exactly_ how.

* * *

 _‘I know what you came here to see… If you a freak, then you comin’ home with me…_ ’ 

Bucky’s coat hangs on the back of his chair. He can feel the droplets of sweat rolling down his skin beneath his shirt; down his chest, over his stomach, dampening his hair line. His sleeves are pushed to his elbows and _fuck,_ he wishes he could unbutton his fucking shirt because he’s burning alive. Knowing he can’t – he physically _can’t_ , he has no choice in the matter – has him rock hard.

But he’s surrounded by people, all dancing, and no one cares to look. He’s hard and he doesn’t care.

_‘I know what you came here to do… Now bust it open, let me see you get loose. It’s goin’ down for real…’_

The notes of the saxophone burst from the speakers and Bucky tips his head back, eyes closing and he surrenders himself to yet another song. He sways his hips from left to right, and back again, back again, _back_ again; feeling the beat all the way into his chest. It’s still a school environment, so unfortunately every song they play has to be watered down into its ‘appropriate’ version – but beyond that, the staff seems to be doing little to censor anything else.

The music the DJ plays is still sexy. In the movies, there always seems to be an ‘arm’s distance between bodies’ policy. In reality, half the students packed on the dance floor are grinding up against each other. If it _is_ a rule, then the chaperons must’ve collectively decided it’d be more effort to try to _enforce_ it than to pretend they just don’t see it at all.

Bucky keeps biting his lip, his whole mouth an obscene cherry red that matches the flush staining his cheeks. His friends surround him – sometimes Bucky gets in close and will rock his hips with one of them if the music is fitting, like it is now – and with just how crowded the floor actually is now, most of them are all looking the exact same way. A little sweaty from so much dancing and body heat. In need of some water.

No one knows that Bucky’s got a different reason for that flush scalding his skin; that when he bites his lip, he’s releasing a sigh, or a whimper… or a breathless moan when his mouth is tipped open... The music drowns him out. He can get away with it here. No one knows that every movement he makes is like torture, so sweet and beautiful, because he dances, and there’s _no_ way his prostate isn’t going untouched now. He’s been teasing the fuck out of it for the better part of an hour.

No one knows. But _Steve_ knows. He may not always be able to watch, but Bucky’s caught him out of the corner of his eye every time he _has_. It’d seemed totally harmless, of course, when Bucky first decided to exact his revenge. Just as he’d expected, the dancing finally began to warm up after Miss Hill crowned the Prom King and Queen and the two had their respective dances.

It took a while for his friends to get comfortable with the swing of it, so Bucky kept things reserved; bided his time. Every time he’d catch Steve sneaking a glance his way only to once again have to be disappointed with the fact that Bucky was _still_ not really dancing yet, Bucky couldn’t help but feel smug. He could give Steve a taste of his own medicine for a while, and he _liked_ it. It made him feel powerful.

Then Quill had decided it was time for that dance-off he’d mentioned earlier, and as usual, not many people wanted to partake at first. But by the time Natasha finally jumped in, that was when more people started circling around them all and getting enthused. Everyone knows Natasha can dance. And everyone knows, so can Bucky. So he’d watched from the circle, and bided more time – and when he finally spotted Steve again and the two made eye contact, Bucky had picked that moment to run into the circle and take over the battle, so all eyes had no choice but to be on him.

All the other students went nuts. He’d definitely been showing off – popping his joints, gliding effortlessly across the floor, mixing up hip-hop with some impromptu breakdancing – but everyone else seemed impressed, cheering and hollering excitedly. The dance-off had already gotten everyone’s attention, including the teachers’. Bucky really only cared if _Steve_ saw, and he’d hoped to god he _could_ with so many bodies standing between the two of them.

When Bucky finally finished, he’d been laughing as his friends crowded him and slapped their hands onto his shoulders… But when Bucky snuck a look to the other side of the room, the teachers were still staring in the direction of the dance floor, and some were clapping, and Steve… Steve was _smirking_ , right there in the open and right at Bucky. He’d seen, and Bucky felt like he’d just been such a good little boy for him.

After that, it basically only got worse. Of course, most of the songs played were perfectly harmless. Some collectively got everyone dancing together with classics like the ‘YMCA’, and others turned slow so people could pair off together for a couple minutes. Following Steve’s advice, Bucky let himself still have a few of those, dancing with Natasha first, and then with Kitty. After that, he willingly sat them out, either joining Clint and a few others for a smoke, or getting some water so he could go another round once the beat was livelier again.

 _These_ are the songs he likes best: the kind where he can twist his hips and know he looks debauched, dirty. And he can get away with it because he’s not the only one, and it’s _just dancing._ Just dancing, where he can open his eyes… like he does now… and let his head loll to the side just in time to catch Steve’s gaze yet again… Feel like his Steve’s good little slut, and Bucky _loves_ it, so he keeps moving.

He feels drunk – the natural rush he always gets from dancing intertwining and mixing with the high he always gets when his Sir is watching, _keeping his eye on Bucky_ , drinking in the view, appreciating every second of it. Bucky feels sexy, and fuck, he’s dying to unbutton his shirt even just a _little,_ but he’s _not allowed._ He feels so drunk… He feels high as a kite, and he wants to keep being so good for Steve, so he dances, and he _dances_...

And _maybe_ he gets a little overzealous. He can’t help it. Steve had told him he wanted Bucky to give Steve a reason to punish him. He’s the one who gave Bucky rules he purposely wanted Bucky to break. Same logic as what’d sparked in Bucky’s chest when he’d seen Steve’s tattoo peeking out: being forced to share what’s normally only theirs – but _willingly_ doing so, to an extent – because it makes Steve hot for Bucky as much as it makes him jealous.

So Bucky keeps eye contact with him from across the room and bites at his mouth again, before breaking it so he can scan the other people dancing around him. He just needs someone to…

 _There._ Bobby Drake just so happens to innocently fall into view and meet his stare. The straightest thing about the guy is his grade point average, and they already blew each other a few times a couple years back, so it’s effortless for Bucky to lift his hand and curl his finger as he stares up at Bobby from beneath his lashes. It’s even easier for Bobby to accept the silent offer, crossing the small distance so he can place his hands on Bucky’s waist, stepping in nice and close.

Bucky drapes his arms around Bobby’s neck and picks up right where he left off, moving his hips, drawing Bobby to do the same. Their noses are only inches apart, but Bucky makes sure to keep enough space between their pelvises so Bobby doesn’t feel Bucky’s hard-on and get the wrong idea.

It’s not _meant_ for him, and Bucky doesn’t want him to think it in any way is. That part of him is all for Steve. Only he gets the right to Bucky’s cock, with more ownership over it than even Bucky himself. Bucky may be playing with fire and acting like a little shit, but he still has respect for the fundamental rules established between them.

What matters is that it’s close enough to get his point across.

The point, it would seem, has been taken. Maybe a little _too_ well. Steve’s smile has vanished when Bucky looks back over in his direction. He’s off in the distance, still standing with a few of the other staff; right where he’d been when Bucky last caught his gaze. They’re all caught up in conversation, but Steve’s clearly now distracted.

He keeps darting his eyes right back to Bucky, as if now he has no intention of letting him out of his sight so long as Bucky’s got this other guy pressed to him like this. Even with all that space between them, Bucky can see something fierce smoldering away just underneath his otherwise unaffected demeanor. Bucky can’t decipher that look, and he’s suddenly worried that maybe this was one of those ideas – for the both of them – that only seemed good in _theory._

He isn’t afforded much time to ponder that one before Bobby’s voice pulls him from his thoughts.

“Looking good tonight, Barnes,” he compliments, getting a small smile. He looks slightly thrown off by the fact that they’re suddenly dancing together when, to be fair, they haven’t really spoken all that much since they were sophomores. All the same, he still seems just as delighted by this turn of events.

Bucky knows he’s totally harmless – Bobby’s the type of person who’d never hurt a fly – so he accepts the compliment, replying, “Thanks. You too.” They stare at each other for a few seconds, still mirroring their hips as they sway in tandem, and then Bucky makes sure to clarify for good measure, “It’s just dancin’ though – like, for the record. Don’t get any ideas.”

Bobby’s smile spreads into a grin and he laughs. Bucky grins back, relieved that he didn’t just unintentionally get himself into something that – in retrospect – could’ve become messy. Sometimes Bucky has a bad habit of acting in the moment before his brain can catch up and point out why that might have been a terrible idea.

“Don’t worry, dude, I got a boyfriend,” Bobby says.

Brow arching, Bucky asks, “And he’s cool with you grindin’ up on other guys?” As if he was one to talk.

Bobby shrugs one shoulder. “Hey, you said it yourself: it’s just dancing. Right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, then we’re in agreement.” Bobby’s still smiling, and it’s just as infectious as it’s always been, so Bucky can’t help but return it a second time, nodding.

He opens his mouth to ask him how he’s been lately, but isn’t given the chance. In his peripherals, he registers that Steve’s suddenly approaching. It doesn’t sink in until the very last second, and then both boys are glancing over to him, startled. Bucky’s heart nearly stops, stomach dropping with maybe the smallest sliver of dread… but mostly thrill.

Bucky’s plan worked; his revenge for Steve’s teasing earlier, succeeding. He hadn’t actually expected it to rile Steve up so much that he’d be physically intervening like this, though. All things considered, Steve’s decision is bold enough to be risky.

If you didn’t know any better, Steve’s expression would seem unassuming. But the first thing _Bucky_ registers is the mild annoyance – the possessiveness – trying not to rise to the surface. However, Steve then flashes them an apologetic smile, maintaining his professional composure as tells them, “Guys, code of conduct – this isn’t a night club. I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you two to put a little space between you.”

Bobby’s not much of a rule breaker, already taking a couple steps back and apologizing before Steve’s even finished. Bucky, on the other hand, keeps his eyes on Steve, letting his arms fall by his sides. He doesn’t bother pointing out what Steve already knows: that they’re not the only two who’ve been dancing like this. Hell, some other students are _still_ dancing like that right now.

Bucky knows what Steve’s doing, and _Steve_ knows that Bucky knows. It’s all still a part of the game. So Bucky doesn’t push his luck. He did what Steve wanted and it garnered the exact reaction they both expected, so there’s no need to take it further. Steve transfers his look from Bobby to Bucky and then stretches his smile a fraction wider.

“Just keep a bit of space, alright?” he asks, aiming the question – that is most definitely _not_ even a question at all – at Bucky. It’s under the guise that it’s being said to the both of them. Before Bucky can answer, he adds, still as polite as ever, “Sorry about that. Have a good rest of your night!” and walks away.

And just like that, Steve’s stolen the ball and brought it _right_ back over to his court. Touché. Bucky might’ve had that coming.

Bucky’s pulse is racing; skin prickling and hot like when you’re caught doing something very, very bad. _Perfect_. That’s exactly what he hoped it’d do to him. It’s only because he remembers that Bobby’s still right there that his mouth doesn’t start watering at the thought of how Steve will make him pay for this stunt later. After the two boys look to each other and exhale a laugh, slightly awkward, Bucky juts his thumb over his shoulder and creates his out by saying he’s going to go have a smoke.

Short but sweet. They say bye, and Bucky knows that – same as last time – it’ll probably be months before they talk again. Maybe longer. He makes a mental note to try and put in a bit more of an effort to keep contact with the guy after they graduate. Bobby was always one of the better ones.

Bucky heads to his table to retrieve his case of smokes from his jacket. He then beelines over to where most of his friends are still dancing so he can shout over the music and let them know that he’ll be right back. None of them offer to come join him, and truthfully, Bucky’s thankful that he’ll get to have a brief moment of privacy.

As he heads out, he slips his phone from his pocket and texts Steve: **_You’re not actually upset with me are you…?_**

Honestly, it could go either way, so Bucky isn’t sure what to expect. If it truly _had_ bothered Steve, it’s not as though he could’ve made that clear when he approached them. Again, he reminds himself that Steve was the one who came up with this idea in the first place. But still.

For all Bucky knows, this might become another Red. And if so – that’s fine. It’s not as if he did it for any other reason than _for_ Steve anyways. But just in theory alone, Bucky hopes that’s not the response he gets. If it _was_ , it’d mean it upset Steve that much that he’d make it a hard limit at _all_ , and that’s the exact opposite of how Bucky was trying to make him feel.

Perhaps Steve was anticipating for Bucky to text him after what just happened, because he’s not even outside yet when his phone buzzes with a reply.

 ** _Of course not baby_** , is what it reads, and for the second time, Bucky’s hit with relief.

Honestly, Bucky knows he would’ve hardly been the one to blame if Steve actually _had_ been upset. Chances are, Steve would’ve known that, too. All that to be said, Bucky still would never want to legitimately make him jealous – the kind that’s _not_ sexy or playful, but just downright gut-wrenching. He knows from experience that that feeling fucking sucks. He’d never purposely put Steve through that.

And then Steve texts him again:

**_Just wish I could make everyone watch while I bind your wrists with that jacket of yours and fuck you till you were screaming. Remind you who you really belong to. That’s all._ **

Since he’s by himself outside, no one hears the little, helpless groan that elicits from deep in his chest. There’s no way he’s going to be able to survive until tomorrow without jerking off. Normally he’d be able to stand it, but with the plug, and the hickeys, and the teasing, just… _fuck_. Maybe Bucky can slip into the washroom and just be _really_ quiet about it. Make it fast – just get in, get off, get out. He’ll tell Steve about it later and make it up to him if it turns out Steve didn’t want him to come until he said so.

Hands quivering, he types back: **_I could never forget, sir. No one’s like you, I swear. No one. God Stevie I want you so bad, I think I’m actually dying._** He almost drops his phone when he tries to open his cigarette case and get his lighter working.

 ** _Not gonna lie_** , Steve replies, **_I fucking hate seeing other people put their hands on you, but it was also pretty hot._**

 ** _You didn’t even let it last thirty seconds_** , Bucky reminds him. He’s feeling a little lightheaded, still riding the adrenaline rush from inside; mouth dry, one corner of his mouth upturned.

Steve takes a little longer to reply this time. Turns out he had quite a bit to say, and reading the message, Bucky doesn’t mind one goddamn bit:

 ** _Yeah because you’re MINE, little boy_**. ** _It was hot, ya, but a few seconds was more than enough. All I could think of were the marks I left on your hip bones and when I realized someone else’s hands were touching them? Ya, no. Fuck that. I prefer watching just YOU dancing. That I could watch all night._**

A soft, desperate sound – _mm_ – slips past Bucky’s lips. He closes his eyes long enough to bring back the sensations of when he’d been dancing, friends all around and yet all to himself; tries to imagine how the sight of him must’ve looked from Steve’s perspective. He remembers meeting his boyfriend’s eyes from across different points of the large room – and not giving a single shit about anyone else who was there.

Bucky remembers each and every movement forcing that thick plug to stimulate his poor, abused little hole; sweat trickling on his skin and pleasure bubbling through his veins, moaning and whimpering with every scrape against his swollen prostate and everyone around him being none the wiser. Bucky Barnes – Steve’s little thing of beauty; knowing exactly how to work his body and relishing in every second of it. Practically getting fucked on the dance floor while Steve watched, admired.

Yeah, he’d be more than happy doing nothing but that all night, too.

It amazes Bucky, how it’s only becoming easier and easier to feel like he’s slipping into that trance-like sort of state whenever Steve’s exudes his control over him. Bucky wonders if the fact that he was finally able to be pushed to subspace means that maybe getting back there will become more common between them.

He hopes so. The exact sensations from earlier have already mostly blurred away, like when you awaken from a dream and the crispness of it gradually slips through the cracks of your fingers throughout the day, trickling away like sand. But even if he can’t draw back up the specifics, nothing can make Bucky forget how wondrous it was. He’d never felt anything so perfect like that before.

The details themselves may be too foggy for Bucky to recall exactly now, but it’s still a point of reference, so he knows he’s definitely not ‘under’ like he was earlier that afternoon. But even with just this, he feels blissful. It’s making him yearn for Steve more than he’d like, given their circumstances, but he’s pretty at peace all the same.

Eyes opening again, he lets out a quiet hum of contentment. He texts back, **_I’ll dance for you as much as you’d like, sir <3 _**and only feels even fuzzier all over when Steve replies, **_God I love you._**

 ** _I love you too._** Bucky pauses, a thought suddenly springing to mind. Before pressing Send, he still has the good sense to add as a precaution, **_Maybe make a point to break up a couple other students dancing too close though? If it was just me, it might set off alarms._**

Steve replies, **_Hmm good point. I didn’t even think about that! Thanks baby, I’ll make sure to do that :)_**. Bucky’s about to start typing back when he notices Steve’s chat bubble reappear. Less than a minute passes and then a new message pops up: **_Damn I got busted lol Miss Hill just gave Tony and me the gears for having our phones out too much. I gotta put it away for a bit. Sorry sweetheart! I’ll text you as soon as I can, love you! xo_**

 _No, wait--_ Bucky almost finds himself scrambling to type back just that. He doesn’t want Steve to go anywhere, not right now of all times especially; not when everything was just so wonderful and Bucky felt like he actually had a few minutes ‘alone’ with him.

Sighing, he tells Steve he understands and that he loves him, too. There’s nothing they can do about things like that and he knows it. There’d be no point in getting worked up about it, and even less of a point actually asking Steve not to leave. All that’d accomplish would be making Steve feel guilty as fuck over something he has no control over.

He watches the word ‘Delivered’ show up beneath his last iMessage to Steve. He can’t help but habitually turn his screen off and on while he finishes his cigarette (and then the second one he lights up immediately after), checking to no avail just to see if that notification will change to a time stamp. Steve always keeps that setting on, which means Bucky knows when his messages have been read.

It still just keeps saying ‘Delivered’, though. Steve must have put his phone back into his pocket as soon as he’d last texted Bucky. Bucky expected as much, but he’s still disappointed. Quickly, he catches himself – _no, no negatives tonight. Only positives._ For example, originally Bucky didn’t even think Steve would _be_ at prom at all. It may not be ideal, but he still _is_ there, and so far it’s proven to have been even better than Bucky assumed it would be.

Another positive, he disciplines himself to consider: Steve may have had to go MIA without warning, but Bucky still got to text him plenty more than he thought. He got to have those few precious minutes at the food table. He’ll get to walk right back upstairs and be able to look back over to him for at least another hour. All of that is – both individually and together – so much more than Bucky originally believed he’d get.

He knows he built himself up over the last week, bracing himself for the worst. The truth is… he’s actually been having a fucking great time, with his friends and even with Steve. This is the best Bucky’s felt in days, and it’s even left him feeling like he has a fresher – _hopeful_ – outlook on the future. Sure, he’s still got those anxieties lingering deep down because he knows he hasn’t dealt with them yet – and he’s just as sure that when the time does come to face those, that anxiety might rear its ugly head full throttle again.

But tonight’s been a reminder of why he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to get through it – _with_ his friends still by his side, and _with_ Steve still in his life. Maybe the worst case scenario is that he’ll have to fight a little for them, if that’s what it takes. But the difference between Bucky tonight versus Bucky earlier that morning is that now he’s willing to _do_ that. Fight if he has to. Not run away with his tail between his legs and give up without even trying first.

Positives. _Get out of your fucking head, Barnes._ Taking a deep, steady breath, Bucky centers himself with a nod. He’s got this. It’ll be just fine. _Baby steps._ No need to jump ahead too far when it’s not necessary again. He’s still right here, right in the now, and there’s still plenty more fun he can have tonight, so he will.

Flicking away his smoke, he turns to head back in.

* * *

The opening line of Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud” is filling the room. Bucky doesn’t catch any glimpse of Steve as he heads back over to his table to dump his case back into his coat, and when he actually gets to the table, he’s kind of surprised that he doesn’t find any of his friends either. He’d assumed that at the very least, the ones who were never too big on dancing – like Ben or Parker, or even Stephen – would have called it quits already, in lieu of relaxing and chatting back at their table until everyone was ready to split to Natasha’s. 

But when Bucky straightens and starts scanning the dance floor, he finds that Ben’s slowly stepping in a small circle with Kitty’s arms around his neck. He looks like someone who _knows_ he’s awkward at this, but Kitty clearly doesn’t mind. In fact, with the way she’s smiling and saying something Bucky obviously can’t make out, and with the way Ben can’t take his eyes off of her, Bucky guesses that this is not a moment that should be interrupted.

Browsing the dancing crowd a bit harder, Bucky can’t seem to spot several of the gang, but… he _does_ notice that unmistakable red hair. Bucky squints, making sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light – and then his face breaks out into a grin.

Clint must’ve finally gotten the balls to ask for that dance. (Either that or Natasha got tired of waiting and simply dragged him into a slow dance herself. Both options would be just as likely to happen, _let’s be real here_.) It’s not like it matters. Regardless of _who_ initiated it, they’re still dancing together, and their faces are close and they’re staring at each other like – at least for now – they’re ignoring everyone else in the room, and--

Bucky tries to contain himself, squeezing his eyes shut and mouthing the word ‘yes’ as he pumps his fist excitedly and bounces on the spot. Chances are, he might be even more thrilled for them than _they_ are for themselves, but whatever. He’s been waiting years for this to happen, so it’s kind of a big deal.

That’s absolutely a big positive, a _huge_ one, and Bucky’s happy he got to witness it. It’s also a private moment he’s _definitely_ not going to ruin, so he decides no one will care – or probably even notice – if he wastes a few more minutes to himself before socializing again. 

The men’s washroom is located just outside of the main hall and surprisingly has no one else inside when Bucky pushes open the door and walks in. Locking himself in the end stall, Bucky unfastens his belt and drops his pants, thankful that his erection from earlier has softened up enough that he can properly relieve himself. He’s never pissed with something shoved up his ass before, and it feels kind of super fucking weird. He’s not overly sure it’s in a good way either, but he gets through it as quick as he can.

After he flushes, he finds himself pausing instead of simply pulling his pants back up. Maybe…? Maybe he _could_ get away with it, if he was quick enough…? His dick’s still out, after all – _maybe_ … Steve couldn’t possibly be _too_ upset with him. Bucky’s been really good for him tonight, and there’s been enough teasing to last him a lifetime. One slip up wouldn’t be the end of the world, and – well, Steve didn’t _forbid_ him from touching himself either. Or getting off. Bucky could hardly be blamed…

Biting his bottom lip, Bucky hesitantly reaches back towards his cock and wraps his fingers around it. Quickly, he glances over his shoulder and goes still, just to listen and double check that no one else has walked in during the short time Bucky’s been in there. _Coast is still clear._ With that, Bucky closes his eyes and focuses on breathing evenly through his nose, his right hand squeezing and beginning to tug back and forth.

 _Damn_ , that’s nice. His nerve endings are all incredibly sensitive; too much stimulation over the last few hours with no release. Just a couple strokes and Bucky’s already thickening back to full mast, making his hand wet with precome. It’s good, it’s really good actually, but… something doesn’t feel quite right. _What if he…?_

Experimentally, Bucky spreads his legs as much as he can with his pants still straddling low on his thighs. With his left hand, he reaches behind him and brushes his fingers over the base of the sturdy latex that’s been keeping his rim so obscenely stretched.

First, all he does is try to press his fingers against it – _just a bit, just a bit’s okay_ – and give it a tiny push. But that’s like having your favorite ice cream on a hot Brooklyn’s day and giving it nothing but a kitten lick. It’s enough to _just_ graze against his prostate; get his eyes opening only long enough to roll back into his head as his mouth falls open.

But not exactly enough. Just leaving him starving for more.

So he tightens his right hand around his cock, starts jerking off faster, and with the other, he gets a grip on the base and sees how he can try to play with it. What he discovers within seconds is that all he needs to do is give it the lightest little tug, as if he were trying to pull it out. That’s all it takes to strain the fattest part of the plug – rooted within his body – against the outline of his rim. Pleasure rockets throughout his limbs, powerful and unexpected enough that his knees nearly buckle on the spot.

 _Oh god, god yeah, that’s perfect, fuck that’s perfect._ He can just keep doing that; fuck forward into his fist and then fuck _back_ and swallow that half inch or so straight back into his ass, and he’ll be a goner for sure. _God,_ he already feels so close, it’s insane. As long as no one walks in within the next thirty seconds, Bucky can be well and taken care of. Probably not even _that_ long. Then he’ll be satiated enough to last until the next time he can go to Steve’s place.

With frustration, he realizes that despite how phenomenal it is now, something _still_ seems to be wrong. Bucky tries to ignore it; shake it off and put all of his focus into the way it feels to rub his thumb over his slit. It’s right there – he’s got the perfect formula to come _hard_ , but something’s preventing him from giving himself over to it.

_He didn’t give you permission._

Bucky’s hand falters, brows creasing. But Steve didn’t say he _couldn’t_ either… He – he didn’t… Okay sure, Steve would probably prefer Bucky didn’t touch himself tonight. That’s probably the point of all the teasing; that _both_ of them are driving each other crazy and neither can do anything about it. But still, if Steve didn’t want Bucky to get himself off, he should’ve made that an explicit rule--

Except. Except that really doesn’t matter. That’s just a technicality and Bucky knows it. Steve didn’t say he couldn’t, but the fact that Steve didn’t say he _could_ is the only logic Bucky should be following. Frowning, eyes still closed, Bucky’s right hand slows. His left drops away from his plug completely.

Steve would probably be disappointed if he found out that Bucky sneaked off to jerk off in the bathroom at prom, without his consent and let alone without even asking Steve first. But in all likelihood, Steve would get over it pretty quickly. If he _acted_ reproachful about it, Bucky knows well enough that most of it would be for show – because _Bucky_ likes Steve treating him that way and not so much because he legitimately means it on his own behalf.

Really, the reason why this doesn’t _feel_ right is because… because _Bucky_ wants to obey him. Steve’s influence over him transcends the walls that make up his home, and it transcends technicalities. Bucky is always wearing his collar, even when he is not. Steve didn’t tell Bucky he couldn’t come, but he didn’t give him _permission_ to either.

And that’s that. Bucky still hard, and he _wants_ to get off – but ultimately, he wants to please his Sir even more. His orgasms belong to Steve Rogers and no one else, not even himself. He realizes in that moment that he will never even jerk off again unless he knows he’s explicitly _allowed_ to. The revelation would probably feel suffocating to most, but Bucky’s never felt so free. It’s fucking liberating, to relinquish himself and be that devoted to his lover; know that it’s a bond shared in return.

Steve will be so fucking proud of him when he finds out.  

Bucky opens his eyes, already wearing a spaced-out smile on his face. Without thinking twice, he tucks himself away – ignoring the way his dick throbs, betrayed at its sudden abandonment – and pulls his pants the rest of the way up. He feels light and airy; on Cloud Nine and pretty damn pleased with himself. He washes his hands clean at the sink. After he dries them and tosses the paper towel into the trash, he lifts his gaze and meets his reflection’s, lingering.

Bucky’s never considered himself _conceited_ per se (though he knows he’s guilty sometimes of his own vanity), and maybe it’s just being fueled by the wave of endorphins he’s currently surfing, but he assesses himself and thinks he looks pretty damn hot. Especially with the slight glow he’s got going on: eyes a little glassy and dark; the apples of his cheeks kissed with the faintest shade of scarlet. Hair tousled in that casual way that can be taken as, _I look good by accident_ , about as effortlessly as it could also mean, _and I like getting fucked into the bed_.

Slowly, his eyes trail down to his doppelganger’s neck. Lifting his hand, Bucky tilts his chin up; brushes his fingers over his Adam’s apple, the hollow of his throat, and traces the collar of that royal blue shirt. One more hasty glance to the door – just to make sure – and Bucky’s undoing just a few buttons at the top so he can get a proper look again. Just for a second, that’s all. Some of Steve’s hickeys are really tender now, and one of them is _right_ above his collar bone. Bucky just wants to see if it looks any different…

Tipping his head to the side and arching the curve of his throat, Bucky tugs his collar to the side, exposing the damage. The second he sees it he’s smiling and exhaling a surprised breath, punch-drunk and practically dizzy right then and there. The hues of all the ones he can see have darkened to a vibrant, unforgiving blend of red and purple. The one responsible for the occasional dull ache, though, is also blotched with hints of _blue_. Particularly where Steve had driven in his teeth.

 _Fuck…_ It’s gorgeous. Like its own little galaxy, orbiting right there on the canvas of Bucky’s skin. He’s definitely going to need to take a solid hour the next day once he’s back in the privacy of his own room to properly check out the thorough job Steve had done on his body. Running his fingers over it is nice, but applying a bit of pressure makes it sting, and that’s nicer, _much_ nicer…

Behind him, the door to the washroom abruptly opens, obnoxiously ripping Bucky right out of his quaint little moment of serenity. Bucky’s back strengthens from the sound alone – but it’s when he looks into the mirror and sees _who_ walked in that makes him even more frantic to cover the evidence as swiftly and inconspicuously as possible.

Alex Pierce is the last person Bucky needs seeing him with a fucking _hickey_. Anything even remotely sexual in nature and all it’s ever led to between them were stupid decisions. Mostly on Bucky’s part. Trying to pretend nothing’s there to see, Bucky’s already working fast with deft fingers to do up the buttons beneath his collar. In the back of his mind, he tells himself there’s no reason to worry anyways.

It _has_ been a while – almost a year, actually. They haven’t really talked much since then, not even on Facebook. But whenever they’ve passed each other in the halls at school, things have always been fine. They’re polite to each other; got no problems anymore. Alex has a girlfriend again anyways (not that that ever stopped him before…).

Bucky’s just sort assumed this entire time that Alex was _finally_ over that whole stupid thing they had going on. Maybe he got bored, maybe he just moved on, maybe he finally got real feelings for someone – Bucky never really knew the exact reason and he didn’t care. He hadn’t even felt disappointed; he was more relieved than anything. Bucky had already been long over it.

“Hey man,” Bucky says with a friendly half-smile, so nothing will seem amiss. The first thing he takes in is that he’s still wearing that crown Miss Hill had given him on the top of his head. Absolutely no one was surprised that Alex won Prom King. It was basically a guarantee. “Congrats, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Alex replies, a smile of his own growing.

It’s the much understated slur to his speech, combined with the minor teeter in his step that brings the second thing to Bucky’s attention: that he’s completely shitfaced. That’s hardly surprising; Bucky’s willing to bet he and most of his crew each have a flask to their name hidden somewhere away in their suits. But unlike Bucky and _his_ friends, they’ve most likely been nursing them since the moment they walked in – on top of all the pre-drinking Bucky can only imagine they did beforehand.

Automatically, that realization makes him uneasy. He knows what the old drill used to be like whenever they hung out. Alcohol always played some sort of part, for the both of them. Alex has always known how to hold his liquor. When you’re Captain of the football team, the basketball team, _and_ head of Student Council, partying sort of comes with the territory of being so popular. Bucky remembers. He’d had a taste of that world for a while; before twelfth started. Before Steve.

It’s like Alex was _made_ for it, though, because what would usually reduce anyone else their age to a night with their head in a toilet bowl barely puts a dent in Alex’s step. Bucky remembers Alex telling him one time that he’d never once had a hangover. He handles it so effortlessly that most of the time, if you showed up late to the party and didn’t know any better, you’d have to _ask_ to even know whether the guy had been drinking or not.

In fact, the ‘signs’ he’s exhibiting right now can only be considered ‘signs’ because once upon a time, Bucky knew them – and the man they belonged to – a little too well. What’s noticeable to Bucky would pass by unseen to anyone else, which is the only logical explanation for why none of the staff have discovered that Alex is currently so inebriated. Chances are high that his buddies are in the same boat, wherever they are.

“You’re looking good, Barnes, you’re looking real good,” Alex says. He seems composed enough; sort of stopped a few feet from Bucky and hasn’t really made to move any closer, so…

Bucky smiles politely, still keeping an eye on him through the mirror. “Thanks,” Bucky answers. Taking a stab at casual conversation, he harmlessly continues, “I mean, I see you in the halls pretty much every day, but. You look good, too. How’s Raina holdin’ up? She okay?”

Unlike Alex, his girlfriend – who everyone had thought for _sure_ was also a dead ringer for Prom Queen – didn’t win. She’d thrown quite a fit for a minute or so, before storming out of the room with some friends. Alex looks away, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants before leaning against the wall. He looks like he really doesn’t care all that much.

Shrugging, the indifference in his tone confirms Bucky’s suspicion when he answers, “She’ll be fine.” (And by _that_ , what Bucky’s sure he means is that he won’t be bothered to leave his friends to find her until the night’s over.) Then Alex flashes him that easy, charming smile with another, smaller shrug. “Women, right?”

Turning to face him, Bucky chuckles, even though the insinuation makes him uncomfortable. That was definitely something Bucky _hasn’t_ missed: pretending to find Alex’s terrible sense of ‘humor’ funny when, really, it was just politically incorrect and usually offensive.

So he just says instead, “Wouldn’t really know. Was never all that into chicks, remember?”

Bucky didn’t mean that with _any_ hidden meaning, but that seems to be the way Alex takes it. His smile simmers into a smirk, one that’s much more secretive and about twice as suggestive. After shamelessly letting his stare drop to Bucky’s feet so it can rake its way back up the length of his frame, Alex murmurs, “I remember.”

Bucky hates that even after everything that happened, and even though there’s literally nothing there on Bucky’s end anymore, the sight of that specific smile makes Bucky’s pulse pick up speed. Mentally, Bucky finally knows better. Mentally, there’s really nothing at all about Alex that Bucky even _likes._ Not really, because Bucky _learned._ But physically, well… There’s a reason Bucky always came crawling back basically as soon as Alex so much as snapped his fingers.

So, with their history, Bucky wants to be surprised but can’t. Because he’s _not_ surprised that Alex seems to assume they can once again pick up right where they left off. After all, that’s _why_ it kept up for so long, even once Bucky had to start lying about it to his friends… When Alex gets drunk, he gets horny, and way back when, he knew full well that Bucky would bend over anywhere for him. There was never really any discussion that things were in fact finished for good this time. For all Alex knows, Bucky’s just trying to be cute and play coy; hard to get.

Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time. But this _isn’t_ then, and Bucky’s grown substantially over the last year. He _really_ doesn’t feel like getting into this shit again – not when he’s finally got something real going for him with Steve.

Evidently, he’s been silent for too long. Alex sees that as an invitation to proceed.  

He asks, “So what’s been new with you anyways? It’s been a while since we caught up.”

Bucky knows what he’s doing: luring Bucky into what is supposed to seem like an innocent chat; just ‘catching up’. Except it never lasts that way for long. This is bad. This is incredibly, incredibly bad, and Bucky needs to shut this down and just _leave_ before Alex gets any ideas. He finds himself wanting to simply blurt out that he has a boyfriend; that if Alex’s intention right now is to get Bucky to his knees, it’s not going to work this time.

Except there are two major problems with that: the first being that literally _everyone_ but Natasha has been under the impression that Bucky’s been single this whole time, even his closest friends. All it would take would be Alex mentioning it to _one_ person, and word would spread. Gossip in high school is toxic and unavoidable. And it _would_ be the type of thing to spread because of the second issue: no one would even be able to _believe_ it. Bucky Barnes suddenly - magically, conveniently - being interested in relationships? Not a chance, they'd probably say.

Then there’s also the fact that Alex has always been sly; knows exactly how to pull the strings so he’s the puppeteer over any situation, while no one else suspects a thing. Bucky had been just as oblivious once, until he saw the second face of the coin. That’s a side of him that Alex meticulously doesn’t reveal and not many people know about. Bucky’s not even sure that _Alex_ is aware that Bucky can _really_ see him – that he’s not quite as easy to fool anymore as he once was.

What he always _has_ been sure about is that Alexander Pierce is not the kind of guy Bucky ever wants to wage war against. He already lost once, and he’s only given Alex even more ammunition to use against him since then.

So he knows his knee-jerk impulse isn’t the smart course of action. Rather, he sticks to the polite approach and tries to get himself out of it by simply replying, “Not much, uh – I’ve been good. Hey, listen, I actually had to get back to some of my friends, but--”

“Just had to make sure that monster hickey of yours was covered back up first?” Alex interrupts, sounding amused. Bucky swallows, not having prepared any excuses for that. He’d just been praying Alex hadn’t seen it. All he can do is shrug lamely, averting his eyes back to the door.

Alex whistles, the tail end dropping in pitch until it trails off. “Someone sure did quite the number on you,” he observes, still as deceivingly harmless in tone as if he were commenting on the weather. “Whoever it was must’ve had you screaming pretty good.”

Bucky’s brain isn’t functioning the way he needs it to. It’s still five steps behind, trying to figure out what sort of justifiable reason he can give for suddenly not being interested in a casual fuck when – according to what everyone else still believes about him – nothing has changed. Even though _everything’s_ changed for him. His relationship with Steve has suddenly never felt so complicated.

The only thing he can think to scrounge up is, “You have a girlfriend.”

“So?” Alex asks, genuinely.

He can’t even blame Alex for wondering why Bucky would suddenly take issue with that when he never once did before.

Taking a breath, Bucky keeps calm – and his spine, as straight as he can manage – and starts to say, “Listen… I know we used to…” He gestures between them, “…you know. Do _that_. And stuff. But, I don’t think – like – ‘kay, that’s not gonna happen this time. Okay?”

To his shock, the reaction that evokes from Alex is _laughter._ Sharp, echoing off the walls; sudden and _real_ , like Bucky’s a fucking riot. Mentally, Bucky tries to remember exactly how many times he and Alex had hung out where at first he’d said almost the exact same thing _verbatim_ – only to willingly throw himself right back at the guy and let himself be stripped naked within _minutes._

“Oh, okay,” Alex replies, clearly pretending to go along with it. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he crosses his arms, still grinning and chuckling under his breath. “You _do_ realize that it’s a _public_ bathroom this time? It’s not like we can lock the doors again. If you’re trying to get me hot for you, it’s working.

“Seriously,” he holds out one hand towards Bucky and gestures in a vague circular motion towards him, “this whole thing you’ve got going on right now is great. But I think we’re gonna have to skip the theatrics, if you don’t mind. We don’t exactly have much time.”

That’s when he starts walking towards Bucky, his hands heading down towards his belt. He must be expecting Bucky to drop the act now, start blushing and smirking while he does the same. His big plan is probably that they’ll dive into the nearest empty stall for a quickie. If this was _Steve_ , Bucky would only be too quick to want that. This is completely different, and Alex clearly is under the wrong impression.

“No, wait, no that’s not what I’m tryin’ to do,” Bucky quickly says, lifting his hands. Alex pauses, his belt luckily still fastened; hands only _just_ having started to withdraw it back through the buckle.

For a moment, Alex’s eyes narrow and he appears to have not heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t trying to play at anything,” Bucky clarifies, doing his best to sound a lot more confident than he currently feels on the inside. “I really _do_ have to get back out to my friends.”

Alex narrows his eyes _again_ , regarding him as though Bucky just tried to tell a joke but didn’t land the punchline. When he huffs out another brisk note of laughter, it doesn’t replicate the genuine one from before. This one, like the hint of a smile it’s paired with, doesn’t reach his eyes and it falls flat. That smile wavers.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Bucky frowns. “Do I _look_ like I’m kidding?”

Alex’s ego is one that’s well shielded, but it’s also something he holds sacred. No one ever turns him down, everyone knows that; no one who doesn’t know better would ever want to in the first place. _Everyone_ wants him – whether it’s to _be_ him, be part of his circle, or be the eye candy on his arm. On the outside, Alex seems perfect. Bucky should know; that was such a big part of the appeal when all that shit had started between them.

The reason he learned is because he _got_ what he thought he wanted while really, getting absolutely nothing at all. Just himself in trouble. _Too many times._

So when Bucky sees the incredulous, scornful sneer suddenly stretch across Alex’s face, Bucky knows Alex’s ego just took a direct hit. And when that telltale self-righteousness suddenly steels his previously approachable tone, Bucky also knows that his own heart’s just stopped beating.

“Well look at you,” he chides, cold as ice and Bucky can feel it in his bones, “suddenly too good for me. Is that it, kid? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

He’s got a couple inches on Bucky and inside, it instantly makes him want to shrink. But he refuses to let that show, so long as he can help it. His mouth twitches, but he holds Alex’s stare and doesn’t blink or back down. If he does, he’s screwed.

Oh, he’s not worried that this is going to turn into some sort of fist fight – Alex is far too cunning for that. Even at their worst, he never once laid a hand on Bucky. Had never had to. That’s not how it works with him. Bucky could hold his own if that were the case, but Alex doesn’t attack with brute force. No, if he led an army, he’d never half to lift a finger to slay thousands. He’s the brains that would control the brawn.

Which means he knows exactly which psychological buttons to press so the attack is so much more hurtful than if it _were_ skin-deep.

Scanning Bucky in a mocking once-over, he chortles and factually states, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I suppose that makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, the very last thing a whore like you could possibly have is _standards_ – what when you’re so busy spreading yourself like a little bitch for the first guy who’ll so much as smile at you.”

Bucky winces. He hates that he does. It only ever seems to hurt when Alex says things like this. Simultaneously, it’s exactly that kick-start his heart needs to not only resume beating, but set his blood boiling.

“You know fuck all about me,” he hisses, low and shaking. With fear. With rage.

Alex’s grin broadens, a cruel facsimile meant only to taunt Bucky further. “Oh, don’t I?” he counters. “You know, as I recall, I actually know quite a fair bit about you.” Humming, he looks away and tips his head, lifting his hand so he can tap his index finger off his mouth, pretending to think long and hard. Bucky’s nostrils flare, his hands tensing into fists by his sides.

He isn’t given a chance to cut in when Alex says, “I know the way you sound when you’re on your back and begging for more. Always seemed like your favorite place to be. I know how you _look_ when you’ve got a dick in your mouth and a hand in your hair.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky snarls, his breathing quickening.

“I know how you get this look on your face when you’re getting fucked,” Alex continues, relentless. “Oh, you should _really_ see yourself – exactly like that’s what God Himself put you on this earth to do. Get fucked, _used_. And,” he chuckles heartily, “you not only know it, you _love_ it.”

Bucky’s gritting his teeth. “Shut… the _fuck_ … up…”

Alex gives him a look of pity, still fucking smiling – _oh, poor Bucky_. And he gestures to Bucky and he asks, “You know what you are, Barnes? A cumdumpster.” He enunciates all the syllables, crisp and clear, like Bucky was stupid. “A hole to fuck; a warm mouth – oh sure, it feels good at the time, but once you’re all used up, who actually wants the slut who bends over for anyone? Hmm? I mean,” he laughs, “aside from the ones willing to pay--”

“ _SHUT UP!_ ”

And Bucky snaps, acting the only way he knows how whenever he’s around Alex Pierce: purely on impulse, with no care in that moment for the consequences. He’d been too intimidated before to stand up for himself, but not now.

Now, his fist flies before he can even think about it - striking Alex straight across the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing [starlightmornings](http://starlightmornings.tumblr.com/post/123280158576/ok-its-time-for-me-to-let-go-im-never-going) made this fanfic-inspired video for After Hours, which is absolutely fantastic. You can watch it [here](http://ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com/post/123281836099/starlightmornings-ok-its-time-for-me-to-let) \- and trust me, you should.
> 
> And as always, your daily dose of porn:
> 
> 1\. Sleepy Steve
> 
> 2\. Sleepy Bucky
> 
> 3\. Unfffff
> 
> 4\. Doing all the work <3
> 
> 5\. *slams fists on desk* THIS IS THE SHIT I'M HERE FOR
> 
> 6\. This too


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's finally ready to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNINGS IN THIS CHAPTER: Since we are looking into Bucky's past and his back story with Alex, there is explicit sexual content between them. I'm only constituting this as a warning in case this pairing is a hard NO for you. However, their sexual past plays such a big part in understanding the nature of their relationship, so to me, it was crucial to include.**
> 
> There is also some pretty heavy slut-shaming, internalized and externalized homophobia (plus the use of a gay slur), and general evil manipulation, all on behalf of - of course - Alex Pierce. It is all obviously depicted in a negative way and does not reflect the views of any of character in this fic or myself. There is also a scene involving Bucky having sex with multiple people at once. Alcohol is involved, so while it's still consensual for all parties at the time, it's still under the influence of alcohol and reflects poor decision making in the aftermath. Please also note there is another instance of Bucky having a panic attack. Underage drinking and a minor mention of smoking marijuana also occurs. Please be advised, in the event that any of this bothers you.
> 
> As always, my [Tumblr](ohcaptainmycaptain1918.tumblr.com) is usually a hotbed of indecency, Marvel, Stucky, other Marvel pairings, oggling over Chris Evans's supertitties, and screaming into the void about the eighth wonder of the world that is Sebastian Stan's jawline. If you feel like coming and hanging out with me, please do.
> 
> And lastly, some visual references/reminder:
> 
> STEVE:
> 
> BUCKY:
> 
> ALEX:

Bone meets bone, Bucky’s knuckles making direct contact with Alex’s cheek.

It’s not the hardest punch he’s ever thrown. But the force of the blow still cracks Alex’s face to the side, sending the plastic crown on his head to the floor. Bucky faintly registers minor pain in his knuckles, but he’s too busy getting his hands on the lapels of Alex’s jacket to care. Alex’s own hands fly up in defense, one grabbing a fistful of Bucky’s shirt while he hooks his other arm around Bucky’s neck.

They twist, both struggling to overpower the other into a headlock; grunting loudly over each other while their footfalls land clumsy and heavy so neither trips and puts themselves at an instant disadvantage. To Bucky’s surprise, Alex actually tries to take a swing. It’s poorly aimed – more of an attempt to knock Bucky _off_ rather than inflict any injury – and just barely grazes the side of Bucky’s head, missing its mark.

Bucky’s heart is racing, sending wave after wave of adrenaline through his system. Helps him narrow his vision to Alex and Alex alone, blurring out the rest of the room. He manages to get the upper hand, gaining enough leverage to trip Alex back and wrench himself free from under his arm. Moving quick, Bucky rushes him straight up against the wall.

All he sees now is red. That voice in the back of his head that screams at him to _stop_ before things get worse is drowned out by every memory, every bad feeling, every nasty word Alex ever had for him. He cocks his fist back abruptly, a wild look in his eyes as he bares his teeth – with every intention to start beating the living shit out of Alex until someone stumbles upon them and tears him away.

Alex’s cheekbone is already bruised an angry pink. For the single sweetest moment, he looks unprepared. Maybe even a little scared. For once, Bucky actually has the upper hand – quite literally, in fact. But the second Bucky draws back his arm, Alex is holding up his hands in surrender. The bastard fucking _grins_ again.

“Hey, _hey_ ,” he exclaims, slightly breathless, “you wanna know what elseI know about you? Because let’s not forget, there’s a list--”

Jesus Christ, did this guy ever know when to stop fucking talking!? Bucky loosens his grip only long enough to slam his forearm back to Alex’s chest, pushing his own weight forward and shoving Alex harder against the wall. Shaking his head, Bucky barks, “I swear to god, Alex, I fuckin’ _swear to god_ \--!”

“Don’t forget what I said!” Alex interrupts, an attempt at a warning. “Don’t you forget, Barnes! I never showed anyone that video, but if you leave me no choice--”

“Bullshit! Bullshit, there never _was_ a fucking video – you don’t think I know that by now!?” snarls Bucky.

Alex must be pretty desperate if he’s still trying to rely on _that_ trick, but Bucky’s not going to fall for it this time. The fact alone that he would even fucking _dare_ bring that up again, though--

Alex must realize he got called on his bluff, though god knows he’ll probably never admit to it aloud. He falters for a second, not having expected that response. Bucky eyes him down, slowly shaking his head and then scoffing, spitting out, “I knew it, you’re so fucking full of shit.”

Just as he winds his fist back again, Alex flinches, only for his hands to bolt back up between them.

“ _But!_ ” he interjects quickly, having already calculated two steps ahead. His left hand closes so only his pointer finger remains extended. Much calmer, he repeats, “But… do your friends know about all those times _after_ …?”

Bucky’s eyes widen. Alex registers it, that wolfish grin expanding. _Bingo_.

“Nooo… No they don’t, do they?” he croons, reclaiming the edge with every word. “I bet you didn’t tell anyone. I mean, I don’t blame you. Can you even imagine what they would’ve thought if they found out? Hmm? What do you think they’d say if they knew about how you pretty much came crawling back, _begging_ me to fuck you?”

Bucky’s heart races so fast his stomach’s starting to churn. As if what’d initially happened back then wasn’t bad enough. But at least that, his best friends knew about it. They’d defended him, even fought his battle for him. For almost two months, Alex had made his life a living hell, and they were the ones who helped get him through it.

And then Bucky willingly threw himself right back to the sharks. Behind their backs, no less. It’s not a thing he ever planned for them to find out. It’s not something that Steve… oh god, _Steve_ , he doesn’t know about _any_ of this – oh shit, _oh fuck_ , no, no _no_ \--

“So I’ll tell you what: you put down _that_ ,” Alex proposes, tilting his index finger in the direction of Bucky’s fist, “and your secret dies with me.”

No. No, Bucky was wrong. He was never the only coward in all of this. _Alex_ is the true fucking coward; trying to barter his way out of a beating he so rightfully deserves, two years in the making. Bucky’s still stuck on the implications of Alex’s proposition, his _threat_ – until he remembers that it’s just as empty as the lie he’d fed Bucky for so long about the video.

So Bucky corrects him, “ _Our_ secret. You think I don’t know what’d happen if you told anyone? You’dhave to out yourself. Can’t tell them what happened without admitting to your end of it, right?”

That puts real fear into Alex’s eyes. Goddamn, is that ever gratifying. How stupid does he actually think Bucky is if Alex assumed he wouldn’t be able to figure out such an obvious loophole? Bucky would almost be insulted if he wasn’t still trying to talk himself out of getting just a _couple_ more punches in for good measure.

“I’m not gay,” Alex growls, not for the first time.

“Yeah, you keep tellin’ yourself that,” Bucky mutters back acidly.

Shoving his weight to Alex’s chest one last time, Bucky finally backs off, lowering his fist and putting some space between them. He seriously hopes Alex considers himself lucky that he’s getting to walk out of this with all of his teeth. Honestly, Bucky’s still straddling that unstable line where he desperately wants to lunge back in again.

But he just managed to get everything under control, and he’s pretty damn certain he finally got his point across. About a _lot_ of things that needed saying. He’d only be fucking himself over if he single-handedly stoked the flames and kept it going.

“So are we done here?” he asks. “‘Cause unless you got something else to say to me, I’m fucking leaving.”

Alex glares at him but says nothing – which says everything, really. Yeah, they’re done. Once and for all, from the fucking hopes of it. The very last card it seems Alex can think to play is to avert his eyes to the ground, give a small shake of his head, and sneer. It’s an intimidation tactic. If Bucky were fifteen again, it would’ve worked. Now he’s just disgusted.

Somehow still holding himself with an annoying amount of composure, Alex proceeds to straighten from the wall, sparing Bucky one last glance. He begins to leave, but then stops. After a beat, a smile spreads across his face. Bucky should’ve known he’d still have more cards up his sleeve. He’d felt confident that he finally bested Alex. Apparently there was still one thing more he intended to say.

“You know what everyone thinks of you, right? Why you always got invited to so many parties? You think it’s just ‘cause everyone _liked_ you; having you around? I don’t _need_ to say anything,” he tells Bucky, matter-of-factly. “With or without me, people already know you’re easy. At least when I graduate, I’ll leave knowing I made my name at this place with actual _accomplishments_ – and not the number of _cocks_ I took. Can you say the same?”

That’s as good as another invisible knife stabbing straight into Bucky’s gut. But at least he’s better able to mask it this time. His right hand _does_ twitch, though. God help him, he just wants to swing _one_ more time, just one. Alex would deserve it, there’s no doubt about that. Bucky could get away with it. They haven’t been walked in on yet.

Except he waits too long to make up his mind. Alex gives a faint nod, staring Bucky straight down. With a condescending amount of politeness, he says, “Have a nice night.” Then Bucky has to watch – grey eyes still flashing – as Alex turns to head from the room. Taking the last word with him.

Logically, Bucky knows he should be thankful that he didn’t follow through with his impulse and do anything stupid. There could have been some serious ramifications. That doesn’t make him any less disappointed. Or pissed. He fucking _despises_ that somehow Alex managed to gain back the upper hand. Again. Like fucking _always_.

Yes, logically, Bucky knows he should be thankful that it’s over. But logic can go fuck right the fuck off. There’s no way the consequences would leave Bucky feeling any worse than Alex already did just now. He shouldn’t have hesitated earlier, and he most definitely shouldn’t have stopped. He should’ve punched Alex’s face in until he had to be fucking hospitalized.

Unexpectedly, just as Alex reaches the washroom door, it swings open from the _other_ side. Brock Rumlow walks in, almost crashing right into his friend. He tosses his hands up and laughs, coming to a halt.

“Whoah, hey, there are you!” he exclaims. “The boys n’ I have been trying to find you. Dude, Raina is on a _mission_ – she is piiiiiissed. Maybe you should hide out in here a bit longer.” He slaps a hand on Alex’s shoulder, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. Mid-chuckle, that’s when he notices Bucky. “Oh hey man, what’s up?”

Bucky offers a tight, courteous smile. “Hey. Nothin’, you?”

“Not much – yo, where you goin’? Gonna go track down your girl?” he asks Alex, who’s wordlessly already begun to step past him for the door.

That easy air is back in Alex’s demeanor – forced, no doubt, but he’s a master of deception after all – as he replies, “Might as well. See you out there, man.”

“Yo, hey,” Rumlow interrupts, smile dropping. Confused, even sounding concerned, he gestures to Alex’s cheek and asks, “What happened to your face?”

Bucky swallows, straightening reactively. He wouldn’t expect a fight with Rumlow, but perhaps he’s not quite in the clear yet. The room is overcome with a momentary silence. Tense, uncomfortable. Bucky wonders how much of that Rumlow is able to pick up on in the span of those few, drawn-out seconds.

Alex lingers, back to them and hand keeping the door open. But he doesn’t even bother to look at either of them when he mutters back, “Nothing.”

“You look like someone gave you the beginnings of a shiner.”

“I said it’s nothing,” Alex snaps. Covering his tracks, he shrugs and adds, “It’s been itching like crazy tonight so it must be from me scratching.”

With that, they watch him exit, the door closing behind him. For a moment, Rumlow remains where he is, transferring his inquisitive stare from the door to Bucky. He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But then again, Rumlow’s one of the few people who knows _more_. The truth is, he may be Alex’s best friend – has been since Pre-K – but he’s _Bucky’s_ friend, too. Enough to gain some sense of loyalty, if nothing else.

Alex doesn’t know it, but the only reason Bucky ever knew for sure that there was never actually a video from _that night_ is because Rumlow’s the one who told him.

He’s sort of Alex’s middle man. If anyone were to have any concept of the skeletons that guy actually has in his closet, it’d be him. There’s a _lot_ Bucky assumes he also doesn’t know, but most of what happened between Bucky and Alex in the beginning, he did. It’s just that ultimately, his allegiance still lies with his best friend.

So Rumlow has the capacity to sometimes be shady, but he also has the same capacity to do the right thing and be a decent person (this much, Bucky’s seen) – but only insofar as it doesn’t pit him against Alex or get him on his bad side.

“Hey Barnes,” says Rumlow carefully, like Alex might somehow still be able to hear them, “…you okay?”

He must’ve taken a wild guess that Bucky was the one responsible for Alex’s bruised cheek. Bucky appreciates that he’s never been the type to ask too many prying questions.

“M’fine,” he replies with a nod.

“You sure? You know how he gets sometimes, man… We were just about to head out anyway…” he offers, like maybe that could help.

“Yeah, no, don’t worry about it. Everything’s cool.”

“Alright. If you’re sure.” He watches Bucky give another affirmative nod, and that’s good enough for him. Dropping the subject, he smiles and breezily says, “Cool, well, was good seein’ ya! Sorry to make this short but Jesus fuck, I’m gonna piss my pants, so…”

Bucky smiles back tiredly, stepping aside so Rumlow can stride past him and lock himself in a stall. He remains where he is, staring off as the last five minutes begin replaying in his head as if being fast-forwarded. The sounds of Rumlow starting to piss snaps Bucky out of it long enough to remember that he’s still standing in the middle of the bathroom like a jackass.

The plastic crown Alex had won catches his eye, still strewn on the ground, forgotten by its owner. Alex had been pretty prompt in leaving, after all. It’s no wonder he forgot about it. Maybe he’ll realize it’s missing and come back to look for it. Keeping that in mind, Bucky picks it up from the floor and drops it in the trash. 

Meeting his reflection one last time, Bucky finds that he suddenly doesn’t want to look at himself anymore. Breaking eye contact as if he’s been stung, he ducks his head and heads for the door. With that short period to mentally recuperate, the weight of everything that just happened begins to hit him, forcing Bucky into a daze as he steps out of the washroom and back into the world of _prom_ … where none of this shit was supposed to touch him tonight…

He’s angry, he’s still so fucking angry – it only feels like it’s getting worse with every step he takes. He’d finally been having such a great time, and then Alex went and ruined it for him. But even more than that, Bucky’s mostly pissed at himself. The only reason any of that just happened was because he’d been stupid enough to keep making one bad decision after another, for as long as he had. He’s ashamed of himself for having kept it a secret from his friends, even Natasha. He’s terrified at the idea of Steve finding any of this out.

Any of it. Just because Bucky’s ninety-nine percent sure Alex would be way too smart to run his mouth at his own expense doesn’t mean there’s not still that one percent that’s now scared shitless that he _might_. Bucky did hit him, after all. It was warranted, but – what if Alex still decided to get even for it? Who the fuck knows what sort of spin Alex would put on it to make Bucky look like the bad guy while somehow painting himself out to be the innocent one.

Alex has so much influence over the student body and he doesn’t even have to try. That much popularity grants you a sick kind of immunity that Bucky – as liked as he may be – just doesn’t have. And… with Bucky’s history, the thought that _no one would be surprised_ , even if it was a lie… That hurts. That more than hurts.

Alex’s words loop over and over in his head. His insults. Maybe he was right. Maybe most people only like Bucky because of his old reputation.

It’s not like he never dealt with the odd whispers behind his back before, from people who hardly knew him but had heard the rumors… That Bucky had fucked everyone in their area code, that Bucky sucked so-and-so off under the bleachers, that Bucky somehow took it from six guys at the same time in Gwen Stacy’s hot tub, that Bucky did _this,_ that Bucky did _that..._

The majority of the rumors were always horrendously exaggerated.

They _were_ based on truth, though.

Prior to Steve, Bucky never did relationships much. Thinking back on it, he can count maybe two… No, _three_ boyfriends between freshman and the start of senior year? If they could even be called that. (Bucky doesn't call them that.) Two of them fizzled out after only a few weeks. The other had just passed the month mark when Bucky grew bored and called it quits.

A month. That was his longest relationship before Steve.

There were no teenage ‘I love you’s’ or declarations of some sort of forever. Not even the _entertainment_ of such thoughts. Bucky never bothered to change his relationship status on Facebook for any of them. That alone seemed like too much of an effort he just didn’t feel invested in making yet.

Romance and flowers and junk. That stuff was nice and all, but seemed stupid to him. Myopic and frankly, pointless. Because relationships also meant _delusions_ and _rules_ , and when in high school on top of that, they went hand-in-hand with way too much drama for his liking. There were very few couples Bucky could think of off the top of his head at his school that weren’t completely toxic. The rest were either breaking up at every turn, or finding some new, ridiculous thing to fight about.

To be fair, he wasn’t _anti_ -relationship or some shit, either. Hell, if people wanted to spend their youth shackled to another person, that was their choice. His friends were always getting into relationships, and Bucky was never anything less than supportive. He just didn’t share their sentiments. In his opinion, he only got to be a teenager once, and he wanted to enjoy not just his personal freedom, but the many pleasures life had to offer him.

He’d always assumed that one day, when he was way older, out of school, and living on his own somewhere _really_ cool, that could change. Maybe then he’d eventually be into the idea of settling down; of families and commitment. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. He’d always liked the idea of having kids, but it wasn’t some sort of life goal.

Either way, if it ever happened at all, it wouldn’t be for a long time. That’s not what Bucky was into.

What Bucky was into was sex. Lots of it. With anyone he wanted, whenever he felt like it. And he didn’t care who knew it.

He knows there will never come a point in his life where he’ll apologize for his actions during those years. There was never anything to apologize _for_ – he was always safe about it, it was always mutually consenting, and it’d been a lot of fucking _fun_. Anyone who felt they had the right to judge him for that could go fuck themselves as far as he’s always been concerned.

Unfortunately, a lot of the world is still ignorant about that sort of thing. There were people who didn’t see it the same way; felt the need to make Bucky’s personal life their business. Like somehow they had the right to pass judgement when it never had anything to do with them in the first place. At least Bucky always had a spine like steel when it came to things like that.

He’s never had any tolerance for things like slut-shaming (towards him or _anyone_ else), or the pathetic lowlifes who thought that sort of shit was okay. So the odd rumor or snarky insult said just out of earshot – never actually to his _face_ – never fazed him. Not then, so Bucky sure as hell won’t let it now.

If Alex was right, if that’s the only reason he was ever considered popular, then so fucking be it. They can suck his ass for all he cares. High school will be over in a couple weeks anyway, and then Bucky will never have to see any of those pricks again. He knows who his real friends are anyways. That’s what matters.

Although… All of that is only based on assuming that Alex was even telling the truth in the first place.

Given how manipulative the guy is, nothing he says he can be trusted. If he really stops and thinks about it, Bucky recalls that – actually – _most_ people he knew never cared. Sure, Bucky’s sex life wasn’t exactly a secret to anyone, but the majority of them didn’t give a shit. Really, it was only the odd person here or there who’d ever be petty enough to resort to slut-shaming; stoop to Alex’s level and call Bucky gross things like ‘slut’ or ‘manwhore’.

So most likely, Alex was just being an asshole and did what he does best: lying to try and fuck with Bucky’s head. It’s not like Bucky will ever be able to know for sure, so it’s better to put it out of his mind and try not to give Alex any power over him to still let himself care.

But what Bucky _does_ care about are his _friends_ , and _Steve_ , and what _they_ would think of him. The idea of rumors starting, or anything even being breathed to a single soul and somehow getting back to them – it makes him feel sick. Bucky hates that out of everything Alex said, he was right about one thing: he can’t even fathom what Natasha would say if she discovered that he and Alex kept fooling around over the last couple of years. Clint would probably lose his shit, too.

And how exactly did Bucky think he could go about explaining all of this to Steve? The guy spent pretty much his entire high school career with the _same_ girlfriend. He was _happy_ being tied to someone like that for so long, even being that young. Steve’s probably always been a relationship kind of guy. Their lifestyles were polar opposites before.

Who even knows how many girlfriends Steve had before Bucky? Probably not many. Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if Steve could check all of them off on both hands, knowing him. How would Steve feel if he realized he was with someone whose number was so big that he sometimes loses count? Would that matter to him? God, what if Steve was suddenly scrambling to get himself tested, even though Bucky had already assured him way back when this all started that he was clean?

Bucky hated Alex, but it still hurt when he’d first called him _dirty_. Bucky doesn’t even know how he’d handle it if someone he loved as fiercely as Steve turned around and said something like that.

Every worst case scenario flashes before his eyes, and suddenly Bucky wishes that he could go back to just a few hours sooner, when all he had to worry about was telling everyone he’d picked UCLA. Funny how such a minor shift can have such an impact on his perspective. He’d take that over this any day.

This… this feels so much worse. Bucky knows none of his past _should_ matter – not if Steve really loved him – but fuck, it’d still hurt so fucking much if any of that changed how Steve felt. _Fuck…. Fuck… What if it changed how he felt? What if…?_

Bucky suddenly doesn’t know whether he’s about to throw up or not.

Natasha must’ve been looking for him, because when she spots him, she rushes over, concern all over her face. “There you are! Where’d you even go? You said you were going for a smoke, like, a half hour ago. None of us knew where you went.”

Bucky can’t meet her eyes. “Had to use the bathroom,” he mumbles, walking right past her. “Surprised none of you thought to check in there. But I’m fine. Sorry.”

From behind him, there’s silence. But then she’s following right after him, asking, “Are you alright?”

Bucky’s tired of people asking him that. He can’t talk about this right now, he needs air – he needs to get out of there. Steve, he needs Steve, Bucky needs to be grounded back to earth before he starts to feel crazy again. He doesn’t want another panic attack, not now, everything was just starting to get better – it was supposed to get better, Bucky had been doing so good--

“I’m fine.”

“Hey!” She grabs his arm and tugs, making Bucky face her. Scanning his face, Natasha’s expression is both protective and apprehensive. She doesn’t blink. He still won’t meet her eyes. “What happened? Why were you gone so long?”

It only fills Bucky with even more fear that there’s already suspicion in her voice; that she’s already pieced together that _something_ happened, even if she doesn’t know what that something is yet. She’s stubborn. Once she decides that Bucky’s not telling her the truth, she won’t stop until he fesses up. And she can never know about what happened, she’d – oh fuck, she’d be so angry with him. So would Clint.

For a second time, Bucky can’t help but ponder how the hell he let himself get so worked up about the whole college thing. All week, he’d wasted it by getting himself all freaked out, telling himself that he’d lose his friends over something as inconsequential as going to school out of State. That was nothing. In reality, he’s much more likely to lose them over something like _this._   

“Nothing. I told you, I just had to use the bathroom,” Bucky lies, pulling his arm from her grasp. He spins away from her and is already beginning to power-walk again, heading through the sea of students to get to… he’s not even sure where. He doesn’t really have a game plan, he just needs to make sure that when he leaves this room again, none of his friends follow. So he says the first thing that comes to mind: “I’m going for a smoke.”

Obviously Natasha isn’t going to buy that. “You just had one.”

“Yeah, well, I want another one. I’ll be right back.”

“James--”

“Goddamnit Nat, you’re not my _mom_ , alright?” Bucky snaps. “If I wanna go out for another cigarette, I’m allowed to go out for another cigarette!” He doesn’t bother fishing through his pocket this time, simply snatching up the entire jacket to take with him instead. Natasha stands in front of him, waiting for an explanation.

Sighing, Bucky pleads, “I just need a few minutes alone… please. I’m sorry. I – I can’t talk about it right now. But later. Later, we can talk about it. Right now I just need to be alone. Just for a few minutes.”

Natasha’s hard to read when she goes mother hen on her friends. If Bucky didn’t know her so well, that hardness in her eyes, the tightness of her jaw on an otherwise impassive face… Bucky might think she was upset with him. But he knows that’s not it. Her brain’s just working away, and she’s just worried about him and trying to figure out what Bucky won’t tell her, and Bucky really doesn’t want to hear her conclusions right now.

So he steps in and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” he says. “I’m just feeling messed up right now and it sort of hit me out of nowhere, and… I just need air. Need to think. Tell me you’re not sore with me, please.”

After another moment of silence from her, she sighs. Lifting her arms, she stiffly returns the embrace and tells him, “Of course I’m not. Go if you have to. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks, Nat. I owe you.” He gives her a little squeeze and then lets go, moving around her to walk away.

“James,” Natasha calls after him. He looks over his shoulder to her. She’s leaving Bucky with no room to argue when she gives a single nod and promises him, “We _are_ talking about this later.”

Bucky’s mouth twists into a frown. He doesn’t answer; feels like he’s shrinking under her gaze the longer he holds it. Then he can’t anymore. Averting his eyes downward, he turns without a word and walks away.

As he crosses the rooms, he starts scanning it hectically, trying to track down Steve. Hoping to spot him before he reaches the door, because Bucky has no intention of turning back around once he’s out. He wasn’t lying when he said he needed to get away for a few minutes. The universe, maybe taking pity on him for a change, decides to do him a favor. At the very last second, Bucky manages to find him. He stops dead in his tracks, waiting the few seconds it takes for Steve – laughing at whatever Mr. Wilson’s saying as he does another of his usual scans across the room – to notice him in return.

Bucky doesn’t know what his face looks like right now, but it undoubtedly speaks loud enough to wipe the smile right off Steve’s face at the sight of him. Just as Bucky sees his eyebrows furrow in concern, Bucky turns on his heel and leaves the room without looking back. He hopes that will suffice as his message. Just in case, though, he pulls out his phone. His thumbs work fast to send off a text he hopes Steve has the good mind to check:

 ** _Meet me in emergency stairwell_**.

Bucky heads straight for it, glancing over his shoulder and making sure no one’s looking his way before opening the door and slipping inside. After making sure that he’s alone in there, he takes the steps two at a time until he’s a floor lower. This way, if Steve shows up, they can be concealed in the event that anyone else randomly walks in or tries to go looking for them.

He paces, balling up his coat and throwing it to the side in frustration before running his hands through his hair; rubbing at the back of his neck. He prays that Steve will have gotten the hint and checked his phone. Bucky’s brain is racing away from him. God, how did everything get so fucked again? If it’s not one fucking thing, it’s _another_ , and – _fuck!_ Bucky had been trying so hard, he’d been doing well; kept focusing on the positives, and baby steps, and having a good time.

But no, it’s like life just wants to shit all over him at every turn. _Why_ is it he can’t seem to catch a break? Because _nah_ , this past week hadn’t been bad enough, of course not! Let’s just throw even more shit on top of all that – _why the fuck not, right?_ It’s not as if the last thing Bucky needed was to have all of his dirty laundry dumped back on him, too. Of course he could totally handle that, what with how fucking _well_ he’s been dealing with every other goddamn fucking thing lately!

God, _oh god_ , there’s so much about his past that Steve doesn’t know about… Things Bucky has no idea how he’d take. Steve had never even been with a guy at _all_ before Bucky, and it’s not like Bucky ever portrayed himself like some sort of Virgin Mary, but – but this is different…

How many times did Bucky spout out all that shit to Steve about their age difference not mattering? Argued that he was an adult who knows what he wants? Would Steve suddenly not believe him anymore if he knew what Bucky had been like _before_ they got together? Would he take Bucky’s feelings for him less seriously? What if he suddenly saw Bucky differently altogether?

If it were anyone else, Bucky would laugh in their face and tell them to go fuck themselves. He has before. But if _Steve_ felt that way… He doesn’t know what he’d do. Bucky wouldn’t agree with him, but it’d still rip him apart just as savagely…

And fuck, what would he say about everything that went down with Alex? The night at Rumlow’s party? What happened after that? Would he be as disgusted by Bucky’s choices as Bucky’s always been with them?

Why is this happening? Why? He was finally making progress. Things were starting to feel like they were turning up, he felt _hopeful_ , and just as quickly it got ripped from his hands again. That makes the drop that much worse. The onset of anxiety and emotion hits him so much harder than he could’ve prepared himself for.

Bucky’s lungs are getting tight, air squeezing straight out of him and he can’t breathe, when above him he hears the door to the stairwell open. Bucky freezes, tilting his chin and staring up. Holding in that last little bit of breath. Waiting.

“…Bucky?” he hears Steve say, quiet but urgent.

“Down here,” replies Bucky, voice cracking.

The sound of Steve’s footsteps bounce of the walls as he quickly starts to descend towards him. Right as he turns the corner to come down the second small set of stairs – the last stretch between them – Bucky drops his hands to his sides, vision blurring. Steve heads straight for him, never slowing down.

“Buck,” Steve starts, eyes already jumping all over him, trying to find some sort of damage, “are you okay? What’s going on--?”

Bucky grabs his face and kisses him. He knows it’s not right that he keeps resorting to things like this lately to avoid conversation. It’s not intentional, he just – he needs the contact. He needs the reassurance, and to hold onto this, _what they have_. Where Steve still sees Bucky the way he does, and loves him even with all his jagged edges. He needs Steve to--

“Please don’t stop kissing me,” Bucky begs, because he knows Steve and Bucky doesn’t want him to say anything. Not a word, not yet at least. “Please don’t.”

He throws his arms around Steve’s neck and crushes their lips back together. Steve exhales roughly, making a sound in his throat similar to when Bucky had done almost this exact same thing when he showed up at his house that morning. His hands immediately go to Bucky’s waist, gripping onto him.

At first Steve yields, mouth moving against his. He presses his chest right back to Bucky’s, and he digs his fingertips into his hips, but it’s only a split second later – when Bucky’s eagerly tilting his face to the other side and going to dive back in – that he draws in the smallest gasp and breathes out, “Bucky, wai--”

“Please don’t. Please.”

Bucky shuts him up; kisses him again, harder still. With clumsy movements, he steps backward and pulls Steve with him until he hits the wall. This time, Steve doesn’t stop it. Bucky doesn’t question. From there, it’s aggressive. Tongues and teeth; biting lips and exhaling roughly into each other’s mouths. Bucky keeps one hand in the back of Steve’s hair and Steve’s remain glued to the curve of his hips. Bucky doesn’t cry, but tears do slip down his cheeks. Steve must be able to feel them on his own skin, but unlike earlier, he still doesn’t pull away.

But then Steve steers things; knows he needs to gain control over the situation so he can start to calm Bucky back down. As the first minute blurs into the next, rough becomes gentle. Fast gets slower. Frantic turns to reverence; Steve doing everything he can to lavish it all on Bucky through their kisses, so that it can hopefully overrun whatever it is that’s got Bucky all twisted up on the inside. Steve pecks at Bucky’s lips gingerly, lovingly, as his hands rise and cup the sharp line of his jaw.

Steve’s breathing evens out, and it persuades Bucky’s to do the same. Steve inhales deeply through his nose. Parts his lips back open. Thumbs silently brushing the tears from his cheeks, Steve massages his tongue to Bucky’s, so slowly. Any attempt on Bucky’s part to try and make things quicker again is overpowered by Steve.

He’s got no choice but to let things go slow, and after another minute, his body decides to stop fighting it. Instead, he lets Steve guide him back, just like he wanted. Bucky’s brows pinch in the center, and his heart hurts – he was doing better, he thought, but now he hurts again, and that only makes him hurt even more. He exhales a soft, wobbly moan. Steve accepts it, swallows it up; doesn’t judge Bucky for any of this.

The moment ends on its own, only once Bucky’s finally calmed down a bit against him. Steve kisses at his bottom lip. Pauses. Kisses his top lip. Pauses once more, and then kisses one last time – so careful and sweet – against Bucky’s whole mouth before drawing back. Neither opens their eyes, remaining just as they are: Steve cupping Bucky’s face in both hands, the pads of his thumbs pressing to his cheekbones. Steve lets out a quiet sigh, bumping their foreheads together.

“We need to stop this,” he says, saddened. “This can’t be how we deal with everything.”

Bucky feels so tired, too tired to even try arguing. It melted out of him just now, with Steve’s mouth pressed to his, and Bucky’s just – god, Steve’s so right. He can’t do this anymore, bottling everything up the way he has. It’s chipping away at him too much, juggling so much shit inside. One by one, things just keep crashing all around him. Bucky can’t keep up with it.

So he whispers, “I know.”

Steve moves his thumbs and strokes his cheeks again. “I need you to talk to me. Baby, I _need_ you to talk to me. Let me be there for you. Whatever it is, we can get through it.”

Bucky opens his eyes to find Steve already staring back. He looks so worried – just like Natasha, only Steve wears his heart right on his sleeve. Everything he feels for Bucky is always so transparent the second they’re alone. Bucky’s been hurting, and Steve hasn’t just seen it. He’s been _feeling_ it, too.

Tomorrow, Bucky decides. Tomorrow he’s going to tell Steve everything – school, what happened with Alex, everything. All his cards on the table, and Steve can decide whether that’s what he wants or not. Bucky’s still scared shitless, but he’s tired of this, this _trying to push shit down and pretending it doesn’t exist_. Because it isn’t working, it’s just drowning him.

And Steve deserves the truth. Their relationship deserves the communication Bucky’s been denying it.

He’d tell him right now if not for the fact that once he starts talking, he’s going to _need_ the chance to say everything. That could take a while. Unfortunately, that’s not time they have at the moment. The fact that they just got away with making out in the stairwell, with everyone else just one floor above them and it being so easy for anyone else to have caught them, is pushing their luck enough for one night.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Steve asks. “It’s okay, you can tell me. Is this about earlier?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… did I make you leave too soon earlier? Should there have been more aftercare? Or – was tonight too much? You don’t have to keep the plug anymore if you’re getting uncomfortable, I don’t want you to think… I’m still learning my way around this, so I don’t always…” He trails off, an apology already hiding behind those brilliant blue eyes. “It’s okay to tell me if I messed up at all. That’s how I’ll learn. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

 _Oh_ , he’s worried this might be a crash. He thinks he somehow fucked up. In a way, Bucky’s a little touched at how attentive Steve always tries so hard to be about that type of stuff. It reminds Bucky how precious Steve’s always seen him. And… it would be so easy to lie and say yes. Steve wouldn’t ask questions then – not any Bucky would hesitate to answer anyways.

Sighing, Bucky tips his head back against the wall. No. He can’t lie to Steve about that. That part of their relationship is far too special to taint with dishonesty. And Bucky hates when Steve’s so hard on himself. He’s already too self-deprecating for his own good; always takes the brunt of everything on his own shoulders and never bleeds on anyone. There’s no way in hell Bucky would ever take advantage of that and let Steve think he did something wrong when he didn’t.

Looking away, he clears his throat before shaking his head. “No, it’s not that. Today was perfect. It’s got nothing to even do with you. It was just… some run-in with this asshole, that’s all. It was stupid.”

Steve’s brows knit together. “Oh…Who?”

Bucky hesitates. “Alex Pierce? You know him?”

It’s a dumb question. Everyone knows him. Steve’s clearly of no exception, adorning a look of genuine surprise. “Really? Him? Huh… I never would’ve expected that. He always seemed like a nice guy.”

“Yeah, that’s his special power,” Bucky says, huffing out a flat chuckle. “But he’s actually such a dick.” With a scowl, he mutters, “I fuckin’ hate that guy.”

“What’d he do?” Steve asks slowly. A beat passes. Whatever it is that suddenly clicks in Steve’s head turns his demeanor vehement, distrust flashing in his eyes. With building exigency, Steve presses, “Buck, what’d he do to you? Did he do something? Because if he laid even a finger on you, I need you to te--”

“Whoah, Steve, stop. It’s okay,” Bucky assures him, giving him a weak smile. “Don’t worry, he didn’t. Nothing like that happened. But – I mean, what could you even do about it anyways, right?”

Steve frowns, like he’s tasted something foul. His hands slowly lower from Bucky’s face and he shrugs. “If I were ten years younger, deck the shit out of him?”

“Yeah, but you’re not, so…” Bucky gathers up Steve’s hands again, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Don’t worry, ‘kay? He was just,” he grimaces at the memory, “drunk, and ran his mouth. I took care of it.”

“What’d you do?”

“ _I_ decked the shit out of him.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, mouth dropping. He laughs in surprise, but then catches himself – remembers that he’s supposed to be the responsible adult here – and asks in all seriousness, “Okay, but… how bad did you hurt him? ‘Cause as your boyfriend, I want to say ‘good’, but as a teacher, I should probably know if this guy needs an ambulance or something. I mean, you’re not gonna have to worry about assault charges or anything, right?”

“Nah, it was just the one hit and he didn’t even bleed,” Bucky says. “Trust me, he deserved it. I know him, he won’t go tellin’ anyone. If he did, he’d have to admit he got knocked out. Wouldn’t happen.”

“Okay, so long as you’re sure.” Steve still seems a little concerned for him, leaning in and pressing a few quick kisses around Bucky’s face.

“Stevie, I’m fine,” Bucky says, right as Steve presses another kiss to his temple. “Don’t worry about me.”

Steve smiles crookedly. “I always worry about you, you know that.” He gives Bucky’s lips an innocent kiss. Bucky can’t help but smile back, even if it doesn’t sit right. “You _sure_ there’s nothing I can do to help?”

“I’m sure. If anything, that might just make things worse.”

“Well, if he’s drunk, he shouldn’t be here either,” Steve points out. “Sounds to me like he needs his ass kicked out.”

That’s actually an enticing thought. Bucky might even pay to see that: Steve laying down the law and kicking Alex Pierce – the _Prom King_ – out of his own prom. Getting even in a completely justified way that has no ties to Bucky. Alex being embarrassed in front of everyone, with nothing he can do about it. Had that been a possibility, Bucky would be seriously considering it. Unfortunately, he remembers what Rumlow had said.

“They’re probably gone already, to be honest,” Bucky replies. “Apparently they were about to peace when I saw him.”  

“Well… just in case, I’ll keep an eye out,” Steve promises. He attempts a tiny smile in the hopes that it’ll make Bucky do the same. “‘Kay?”

Bucky nods, wearily answering, “‘Kay.”

“‘Kay?” Steve asks again, this time with a subtle playfulness as he plants a quick peck to Bucky’s cheek. Eyes shutting, Bucky chuckles. Steve persists, only spurred on by having succeeded in getting Bucky to stop frowning. He alternates between repeating, “‘Kay?” and placing smacking kisses to Bucky’s face, until he’s doing nothing but covering everywhere he can, as _loud_ as he can.

Bucky can’t fight the very real smile that puts on his face. By the time Steve’s cradling it and making his way all around his forehead again, Bucky’s giggling.

“Okay Steve, I get it.”

Steve exhales a chuckle and then falls quiet. He leans in and presses his mouth to Bucky’s. Their smiles match. Bucky reaches up and slips his fingers around Steve’s wrists, opening his eyes to search Steve’s.

“I love you,” he whispers, everything he has put into those three words.

“I love you too, Buck. Are you feeling any better?”

Bucky nods. Only a little, but he doesn’t need to put that on Steve right now. Steve helped take a rotten moment for Bucky and turn it into something beautiful, no matter how brief. The important thing is that it helped calm Bucky down enough that he doesn’t feel three seconds away from another meltdown anymore.

“What’re you gonna say if anyone asks where you disappeared to?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “I’ll make something up; tell ‘em I had an important call to take or something. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay… Well, we should probably head back.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying here a bit longer…”

“I know you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t mind either,” Bucky admits, “but…”

Steve gets an understanding smile, small and tender. “I get it. You’re right… C’mere.”

He gathers Bucky into a hug. Bucky turns his face into Steve’s hair, breathing in the scent of shampoo, committing it to memory. Steve rubs a light circle against his back. They hold each other for just a tiny bit longer before they force themselves to let go. Bucky wishes they didn’t have to. He just knows they should. For Steve’s sake, Bucky offers him another smile, this time the one to step in and give him a kiss.

Inside, he tries to ignore that voice that wonders how many times he’ll have left before they let go and Steve never comes back again.

* * *

It’s a little before eleven when the limo pulls into Natasha’s driveway and everyone crashing there starts piling out.

It hadn’t been very long after Bucky rejoined his friends that he realized what time it was – or more accurately, how _little_ time there was for the gang to rendezvous and make their way downstairs to catch their ride. Bucky didn’t even have the chance to properly give Steve a head’s up that he was taking off.

At Bucky’s suggestion in the stairwell, they’d decided that Steve would head back out first, text Bucky a couple minutes later when he could see that the coast was clear, and then Bucky would casually slip back out himself. He didn’t even know where Steve was when he re-emerged and went back into the hall. He must’ve already joined back up with the other chaperons, wherever that was.

Only once he in the limo could Bucky let him know: **_Hey baby, we wound up having to split cuz we forgot when the limo was picking us up & we had like 10 minutes. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to say bye :( I’m so happy I got to see you tonight though & thank you for calming me down. If I’m allowed, do you think maybe I can drop by tomorrow? Ily <3_**

Then he’d spent the duration of the ride to Natasha’s place alternating between throwing on a carefree attitude and joining in whatever conversations were going on around him so as not to seem like a killjoy, pretending not to notice the suspicious look Natasha kept casting his way, and replying to Steve whenever Steve texted back.

Of course he told Bucky it was perfectly fine that he had to leave on such short notice. Steve reminded him how beautiful he looked and how much he enjoyed getting the chance to see Bucky, too. And he only tried to gently ask _twice_ if Bucky was sure he was okay. Both times, Bucky said yes and brushed it away. Steve didn’t ask again after that.

They agreed that Bucky would text him when he got up the next morning – since he was going to be up late and likely to sleep in – and they’d play it by ear, deciding as they went what time Bucky could head over to Steve’s. And Bucky wasn’t in any way surprised when Steve also added, **_Btw I looked for him but I guess you were right about him leaving_** , referring to Alex. But he was still just a _tiny bit_ disappointed. Oh well.

Natasha’s parents are out for the evening, with a note on the counter of where they went and what time they’ll be home, so as to give the kids some space. Knowing and having approved the after party taking place in their house, Natasha reminds everyone the rules that Renata must’ve made sure to repeat to her before she’d left that afternoon: that any and all messes are cleaned up, nothing gets broken, the party remains _downstairs_ , and that everyone behaves themselves.

Bucky heads into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. The sounds of boisterous talking, laughter, and footsteps out in the hallway get quieter as his friends take things downstairs. Natasha rounds the corner and walks into the kitchen, making Bucky nearly leap out of his skin. He’d assumed she’d gone down with the rest of them.

“Jesus, you scared the crap out of me!” he laughs. “I thought I was alone up here.”

She pulls out a can of Coke from the fridge, bumping the door with her hip to shut it. “I’m not spending the rest of the night in this dress,” she replies with a shrug. “I told everyone we’d be right down. I’m getting into some PJ’s.”

“‘We’?”

“Yeah, well, best friend duties mandate that you keep me company.”

Bucky smirks, teasing. “Don’t you got someone else now who might be able to help you undress?” She flips him off, lips pursing as she tries not to smile, but otherwise doesn’t dignify that with a response. She still looks weirdly expectant, though, and truthfully, Bucky’s just relieved that the atmosphere between them isn’t as weird as it’d been in the limo. He probably shouldn’t stir the pot.

So he relents, saying, “Fine. Let’s go. Make it fast, though. God knows what they’re doing down there.”

As they head upstairs, Bucky tries to test the waters a little more; see if that almost-smile in the kitchen was a fluke, or if the mood is lighter again and Natasha’s chosen to drop the subject of what happened back at prom. “So does this mean you’re gonna start expecting me to go to the bathroom with you, too?” he asks, joking.

She exhales through her nose, a half-hearted note of a chuckle, as one corner of her mouth just barely turns up. Other than that, she stays silent. Bucky doesn’t know how to interpret that as an answer. But then they walk into her room – Natasha first, Bucky following – and the door magically shuts behind them without either of them having touched it. The sound makes Bucky startle, spinning around as his brows knit together.

Clint’s standing there.

“Hey buddy,” he simply says, in a tone Bucky _definitely_ doesn’t like. Careful but conclusive; very much in the know.

“Uh…” Bucky looks to Natasha and finds her staring right back, arms crossed and the can of Coke discarded on her night table. “Threesome?” he tries to jest.

She nods to the bed. “Sit.”

Bucky’s expression falls, giving her a flat look. “Did you _actually_ trick me into coming up here? Really?” When Natasha’s expression doesn’t change, still waiting for Bucky to take a seat, Bucky shakes his head and makes to head back for the door. “Yeah, I’ll meet you guys downstairs--”

Clint blocks his way. At least _he_ looks slightly apologetic for the ambush. “Sorry man, no can do. We just wanna talk to you for a sec.”

Bucky looks from him, to Natasha, back to him again. “Seriously, you guys have _one_ dance and now you’re plotting shit together? What even is this, an intervention?” Scoffing, feeling his stomach twisting and his pulse quickening, he tries to step towards the door again. Clint won’t budge.

“I told you we were going to talk,” Natasha answers, unaffected by Bucky’s scandalized reaction. “We’ve wanted to talk to you all week, actually.”

“Now you two are _we_?”

“Yeah, _both_ of us – as your best friends,” Clint answers, a lot firmer this time. “Look, man… We’re not here to attack you. We just wanna know what the hell’s been up with you lately. Okay? We’re worried.”

Bucky swallows, all the steam seeping out of him at those two simple words. It’s not very often Clint admits to stuff like that. Bucky knows the extent of his devotion as a friend. He’s never once doubted it. But Clint’s always the type to prove it with actions rather than sentimental speeches. So for him to be so blunt about his worry speaks volumes.

Bucky had anticipated that Natasha would want to eventually talk about what happened tonight, but he never realized they’d been paying that much attention to his rapid decline over the last week. He thought he’d been putting on a pretty convincing front. They either know him too well or Bucky’s a shitty actor.

Shoulders slumping, Bucky sighs and mutters, “Fine.”

He trudges miserably to Natasha’s bed and does as he was told, sitting down. In the back of his mind, he registers the pressure of the plug when his rear hits the mattress. It’s not the same as it was earlier, though. Part of Bucky is actually sort of looking forward to taking it out once he gets the chance. It’s been good, real good, but certain spots in him are oversensitive to the point of soreness now – and without Steve there to make it pleasurable, it’s just… not, as much. Sometimes Bucky forgets that without pleasure, pain is just pain.

His friends keep an eye on him, silent at first. When Clint seems to trust that unblocking the door won’t result in Bucky leaping from the bed and making a run for it, he slowly steps away from it and walks deeper into the room. He lowers himself to the floor in front of Bucky, crossing his legs and resting his weight on his elbows. Expectantly, he glances up at Natasha. Bucky’s gaze follows his.

She remains standing. It throws Bucky off to see the sudden _troubled_ look etching across her features. Her voice is much softer than normal when she holds Bucky’s stare and then asks, “What’s been going on with you?”

Bucky lowers his eyes, face growing hot. Now they’re both back to staring at him. Waiting. Wanting an answer. He shrugs one shoulder. It’s a childish sort of response, and a total lie – and the fact that it doesn’t work doesn’t shock him one bit.

“Yasha,” she presses, yet still just as gentle, “what is it? Something’s been up with you all week, we’ve seen it. And then tonight? Look me in the eye and tell me nothing’s wrong.”

Bucky knows he can’t. Despite the fact that he’s always had such a moral dilemma about lying to Natasha in the first place, he always fails if he has to do it to her face. He turns into the worst liar ever, and Natasha is already an expert detector as it is.

The room is uncomfortably silent while they wait for Bucky to answer. But Bucky doesn’t know what to say. God, he’s tired. Way too tired of keeping up his charade. No matter how hard he tried anyways, his friends still saw the cracks in his mask. So did Steve. Bucky’s been trying to play to an audience that never believed his performance – and on some level, Bucky always knew that. Even now, just trying to remember any of the possible excuses he could try to scrounge together on the spot feels like too much effort. 

There’s so much unfiltered concern in Clint’s voice when his frown deepens and he gently presses, “Buck…?” that Bucky’s heart breaks.

And he can’t do this anymore.

“I’m going to UCLA,” he hears himself blurt out, right before he buries his face into his hands and shakes his head.

He’s met with silence. Bucky prepares himself for the worst, but then Clint says, sounding confused, “Um… ‘kay?”

“And?” asks Natasha.

Bucky lifts his head to look between them. Now _he’s_ the one who’s thrown off. Clearing his throat, he repeats, “I’m… Um, I’m going to UCLA. In the fall. That’s the place I decided to pick.”

His friends glance to each other, the situation no more cleared up than it was the first time Bucky said it.

Natasha uncrosses her arms. “I’m not following.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Clint says. Looking back to Bucky, he asks, “That’s why you’ve been acting weird?”

“I… Yeah. I guess so.”

“O-kaaay,” Clint replies, drawing out the word; still not getting it. “Alright. Alright, well, let’s talk about it then. Like, what’s freaking you out so much? Just the idea of college in _general_ , or are you having second thoughts, or…?”

Bucky shakes his head, saying, “No, it’s nothing like that.”

“‘Kay, then I’m still confused.”

Natasha lifts a hand, her brows knitting. “Wait. Hold on.” Looking at Bucky sharply, she indicates between herself and Clint and that’s when she asks, “Is this all because you’ve been afraid to _tell_ us?” Bucky feels his cheeks burning red, and once more, he buries his face into his hands, letting out a muffled groan. “He’s been afraid to tell us,” he hears her say much more pointedly to Clint.

“What? Dude. Why?”

It’s such a genuine question – said with so much surprise – that Bucky could burst into tears and start laughing simultaneously. Somehow, in retrospect, the answer he’d been fearing and setting himself up for the most was really the most _unrealistic_ thing that could’ve happened. It’s only now that Bucky’s said it out loud and seen their reactions that it dawns on him – just how silly it was for him to assume that him moving away for school would be enough to ruin over a decade’s worth of friendship.

So he tries to explain himself the best he can. Really, it all turns into an unattractive ramble, but he _tries_ ; he talks about his dream, and the pressure from his parents, and his fear of things changing, and _somehow_ that turns into a rant about movie tropes and Bucky’s partially blaming _those_ for feeding into his skewed belief that moving fucks up friendships, and…

By the time he’s finished, Bucky doesn’t even know how many topics he unintentionally just burned through, or what the segues even were. He just lifts his hands into the air, lets them drops and smack off his thighs, and says, “So… _yeah_.”

Neither of his friends say anything. They just stare at him, and Bucky wishes one of them would _say_ something because the silence makes him nervous as hell and he doesn’t really have the brain power to try and decipher their expressions right now.

That’s when Clint laughs. It’s not cruel. Somehow, it’s sympathetic and affectionate. Bucky exhales a laugh a split second later; his sounding just a tad more hysterical. There’s no word for the relief he feels at that response. He’ll take it. Clint’s not mad. Bucky told himself they’d be mad at him, but _Clint’s not mad._ He’s not, he’s laughing, and everything’s fine. Their friendship isn’t ruined.

Clint shakes his head, running a hand through his hair as he looks away in thought.

“Man… Here I was worrying you, like, killed a guy or something,” he finally says. “But that was… Wow. Man, you must’ve _had_ to have scared the shit out of yourself if you thought I’d be pissed at you for _that_. Like… Look, am I gonna miss you? Of course. It’ll be weird not having you around all the time, for all of us. But that’s what Kik and FaceTime are for.

“Plus, it’s not like you’ll never visit, and you sure as hell know _I’ll_ make a point to fly out there at least once. You really think you’d move away and we’d just never talk to you again? It’s not like you’re the only person we know who’s going away for college, dipshit.”

“I know…” Bucky says, still smiling apologetically. He lets out a quiet sigh. “I was just… yeah. You know. I wasn’t thinking, I get it.”

Clint chuckles again. “Well, that’s hardly anything new,” he teases, faking seriousness. Bucky knows what he’s really doing, and he’s never felt so grateful to have friends like him in his life.

Nodding, Bucky gives him a smaller, warmer smile. “Thank you, Clint.”

“No need to thank me, you know I love ya,” he replies with a shrug, leaning back on his hands. “Just give us a bit more credit in the future.”

This time when Bucky nods, he feels guilty. He knows Clint has a point; they’ve never shown Bucky anything but complete devotion. For him to basically question that with no justified preamble was never fair – if anything, it was also kind of hurtful. They know him well enough to know it wasn’t done on purpose. It’s not like Bucky can control how he felt. But, then again, neither can them. If their feelings were hurt, they’d have every right to that. Clint doesn’t seem to be taking any offense, though Bucky knows even if he _was_ , he’d hide it well.

Natasha, in contrast, hasn’t said anything since. She stopped looking at him a few minutes back, too, and so far she’s kept her sights on a random corner on the other side of the room. Her arms _are_ crossed again, though. Bucky knows right away how _she’s_ feeling, and that makes him feel that much worse. Natasha likes to think of herself as a closed book, but she’s way too easy to read when she’s upset. Right now, she _is_ most definitely feeling hurt.

“Nat,” Bucky says, getting off the bed and going to her. Clint watches but doesn’t provide any commentary. He knows better than to intervene. Natasha blinks, green eyes finally turning to look up at Bucky’s face. Bucky’s momentarily stunned to see that – if he didn’t know any better – her eyes look wet. He can’t remember the last time anyone was able to get her even close to crying. To know _he_ just went and did that makes him feel like such an asshole. Hurting Natasha is something he can never stomach.

“Natasha,” he repeats, voice breaking.

Her own is deceivingly even when she answers, “Is that what you think of me?”

Bucky hears just how fragile she really is in this moment, no matter how much she may try to disguise it. It’s a punch to the chest. His lips part, and his face looks pained, but nothing escapes him.

So she keeps speaking; eyes still hard, still shining with unshed tears, her face otherwise stoic and eerily calm: “We’ve been best friends all our lives. You know me better than anyone. And you thought I’d throw all that way… because you went somewhere else for _college?_ ”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. He reaches for her hand and though she’s on the defensive, she still lets him take it. Lifting it, Bucky cradles it in both of his own, closing her fingers into a loose fist so he can press a few kisses to her knuckles.

She’s right. Bucky was so blinded by his anxieties and doubts that he let it cloud his judgement in the worst possible way. Natasha doesn’t let people in the way she’s let Bucky in over the years. He was the first person other than her family she ever told she loved. That hadn’t been easy for her. Since they were kids, she’s been there for Bucky in ways other people couldn’t even begin to imagine. And then he basically went and spat all over the trust she’s not only given him, but earned for herself in return.

He owes it to her to look her in the eye, and not away. In a whisper, he tells her again that he’s sorry. Hoping she won’t reject him, he gently tugs her towards him. She hesitates, like she isn’t sure. But then she steps in; lets Bucky wrap his arms around her and hug her close. He squeezes her even tighter when he feels her start to hug _back_.

“I’m sorry, Natasha…”

She’s unresponsive for a second, and then mutters into his shirt, “You’re an idiot.”

That’s a good sign. Bucky smiles to himself, nodding his face against her hair and quietly answers, “I know.”

“I’d never be mad at you about something like that. You know me.”

He does. Not many people do, but he does, yes. More relief fills him. This feels like such a weight off his chest, just getting that much out in the open. He nods again, giving her another tighter squeeze against his chest. “I promise not to doubt it again, okay?” he says. “And if I do, I give you permission to hit me.”

Natasha whacks his back lightly, knocking a tiny chuckle out of Bucky’s lungs. Pulling out of the hug, she jokes, “If you do again, I’m not going to need permission.” She wipes at her eyes as discreetly as she can, shooting him the smallest smile.

“So you forgive me?” Bucky asks.

Natasha takes a deep breath. “Are you feeling better now that you told us?”

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s all that matters. But,” she draws in a deep breath, letting it out with a dramatic sigh as she re-adopts her usual demeanor, “of course I do. C’mon, when’ve I ever stayed mad at you before anyways?”

They smile at each other. Despite having _just_ hugged her, Bucky holds out his arms and says, “I love you, dork,” before pulling her right back against him for round two.

“Okay, just one more,” Natasha plays, pretending to humor him. Bucky notices she still hugs back just as tightly, though.

“You could tell me you love me too, you know,” Bucky suggests, teasing. “It wouldn’t kill you.”

“Yeah, but why take the risk, right?”

Out of nowhere, the loud sound of Natasha’s can of Coke opening fills the room and completely ruins the moment. They both glance over to see Clint still looking up at them, slowly lifting the can to his lips to takes a sip. He looks away, eyes widened, and then back to them.

“Sorry,” he says, “I thought the moment was over.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, unwrapping his arms as the hug comes to an abrupt end. “Not quite, but I guess it is now.”

“That was mine, by the way,” says Natasha, stealing it from Clint (much to Clint’s protest). “You want one? Go get your own.”

“Geez, guys. No _hug_ , no _Coke_ – no love for Barton, I get it,” Clint gripes, going into full pout mode. He immediately regrets those words when it results seconds later in Bucky yanking him up from the floor so he and Natasha can squish him into the middle of a sandwich. “I’m definitely facing the wrong side,” he says, voice muffled with his face practically smooshed against Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky grins. “Yeah, now that we’re all here, what’s going on with you two anyway?”

“Hug’s over,” Clint announces, wiggling his way out of it. Natasha smirks at him and also doesn’t answer, finally going over to her dresser to grab some clothes to change into.

“Come on, really? Really, you guys aren’t gonna tell me? I don’t get the deets?” Bucky complains.

Clint takes the can of Coke again and pretends he’s too busy gulping down a mouthful to answer. Natasha just sweetly calls that she’ll be right out and heads into her adjoining bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Bucky huffs, dropping onto his back across her bed and mumbling, “You guys suck.” With Natasha gone, he quickly looks to Clint and points, quietly hissing, “Bro code! I deserve this!”

Clint waves him off hastily, peering fast at the bathroom door. _Later_ , he mouths back.

“So, was that what was going on earlier, too?” they hear Natasha ask from the other room. Bucky freezes, having assumed that was long since dropped. She clearly never told Clint about what happened, because Clint then asks him what happened ‘earlier’. Before Bucky can figure out where the fuck his tongue went, Natasha calls to Clint, “Remember when we couldn’t find him?”

“Yeah?”

“Well I did, and he looked like he just found out his dog died. Then he disappeared again.”

Clint frowns. “I thought you said he’d gone back out for a smoke. Dude,” he says, turning his attention to Bucky, “I was out there for like ten minutes thinking you were getting mugged in some alley.”

“We were in _Manhattan_ ,” Bucky says.

“I know, so then we were starting to think you’d been abducted by UFOs.”

“Wow, that escalated fast.”

Clint admits, “Okay, well that was Quill’s theory--”

“James, stop changing the subject!” Natasha’s voice interrupts them.

“Damnit,” Bucky mutters under his breath. He’d hoped that was going to work. The major fucking problem right now is that he _just_ hurt Natasha’s feelings and then patched things up without much of a fuss. That puts Bucky into a tough spot because now he’s faced with either: telling the truth and re-opening that can of worms, or lying and disrespecting her trust again.

But Bucky still feels guilty. So as much as he wants to avoid this subject like the plague… he really doesn’t want to lie again.

So for the second time that night, he opens his mouth and spills the truth before he loses the guts: “It was about Alex.”

For a split second there’s silence from the bathroom, presumably as she digests that answer. Clint zeroes in on that like a hawk, back straightening as he quickly asks, “Wait, when did you run into Pierce?”

Bucky starts chewing on the inside of his cheek. He can still avoid a shitstorm. Right now he’s still in the clear. He doesn’t have to tell them everything. They don’t need to know.

“In the washroom.”

The bathroom door opens, Natasha emerging in pajama pants and a tank top, her curled hair scraped back into a ponytail but all her makeup scrubbed clean. The change in her entire presence whenever Alex’s name is even _mentioned_ is never any less astounding. She reminds Bucky of a lioness about to protect her cubs. It’s fierce and extraordinary – and maybe also a little bit scary.

“What happened?” she asks. No bullshit.

Bucky gulps. “Nothing.”

“ _James_.”

“Well…”

“Did he try something again?” asks Clint indignantly.

Alex is a taboo topic for all of their friends. No one brings him up, and all share a silent hatred for him for what he did to Bucky back in tenth. It’s been a long time since there was any need for him to be talked about again.

Bucky’s throat is getting drier. He can still back out of this. _Just tell them what happened, but leave out the rest. Leave out what they don’t already know._ Technically he won’t be lying, he just… won’t be telling the full truth.

“No,” Bucky answers. He catches himself. “I mean, yes, he did. But I told him no. He said some shit – tried to threaten shit about the video again--”

Clint scoffs, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, _seriously?_ ”

“--And I called him on it. I, uh… I might’ve hit him, too.”

“You what?” exclaims Clint.

Even Natasha looks stunned by that, which says something. “You hit him?”

“Are you nuts?” Clint jumps back in. “I mean, fuck yeah, good for you, _seriously_ , but – are you actually fucking nuts? What if any of the teachers found out?”

“But they didn’t,” Bucky says, “and what would they have done anyways? Not let me graduate?”

“More like, slapped you with an assault charge,” Natasha counters.

Bucky narrows his eyes at her. “Like you’re really one to talk.” She knows he has a point, so she arches a brow but doesn’t respond. Calmer, Bucky promises them, “No one saw. And he won’t tell anyone, trust me.”

Clint nods, slowly grinning the longer he mulls over Bucky’s words. “Jesus, I wish I could’ve seen that,” he laments. “Did he cry? Oh! If he cried, you _gotta_ tell me. I would’ve given anything to see that prick get one good shot to the nose--”

Bucky smirks. “He didn’t cry, unfortunately.”

Natasha’s still looking at Bucky, skeptical. “James?”

“Hmm?”

“Pa-POW!” Clint exclaims beside them, distracted. He’s bouncing on his feet and jabbing out his fists, punching the air.

Observing him a little _too_ carefully, she asks, “Why did you hit him?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you hit him? You said he tried to hit on you and you said no, so what did he do that made you hit him?”

Clint stops fooling around and looks back to Bucky too, curious. Bucky grimaces. “He just said some shit. Called me a cumdumpster and basically a fuckboy. So I hit him.”

Natasha must have been born with some fucking radar in her head that’s programmed to inform her when Bucky’s not being entirely honest, because her eyes narrow like something still isn’t sitting well with her. She asks, “And that’s all?”

“Yeah,” Bucky lies. Another knee-jerk reaction.

“Hey James?” she presses unabatingly. “This time I want you to try _looking_ at me when you say that.”

He’s busted. Bucky hadn’t even realized he’d averted his eyes when he answered – fuck. Fuck! She knows he’s lying.

 _Would you rather they hear it from someone else?_ Bucky’s logic pipes up. He doesn’t know what to do now. That part of his brain takes full advantage – _You need to tell them_ , it continues. Poking him. Prodding at his conscience. Bucky wishes it would shut the fuck up, but he knows it’s right. He fucking hates that it’s right.

_You’ve been lying about it long enough._

He’s still ninety-nine percent certain that Alex wouldn’t be stupid enough to say a word of what happened to anyone, since the repercussions would be exactly as Bucky said: by outing Bucky’s actions, he’d be simultaneously revealing to everyone that the star quarterback and all-American poster boy wasn’t as straight as he liked them to believe.

Bucky’s always found it ironic – and almost heartbreaking, in its own way – that despite how much Alex always used to _love_ to pound Bucky’s ass on the regular, he’s probably also the most homophobic person Bucky’s ever known. There are only too many guesses as to why that’s the case. But really, that’s for Alex to either come to terms with or continue to ignore.

It’s funny how life works sometimes. That used to be one of the things that hurt Bucky the most, and now it seems like his saving grace. His ace in the hole.

_But._

God, that’s a dangerous word… ‘but’. When it comes to this, there are just too many of them. The most important one being that with what went down, Alex might still deny it to hell and back, but he _also_ knows full well that Clint and Natasha are aware of what happened in the beginning. He might not tell anyone else, but he could still tell them. The only person who’d lose in that scenario would be Bucky. Because they’re _his_ friends, not Alex’s. Alex never owed them what Bucky did… and failed to. 

There’s still that possibility. However small it may be.

 _You can start fresh. You have a whole new life ahead of you,_ Bucky’s rationality continues. _Just air all this shit out and put it on the table. You can start over and let go of the past. They’ll forgive you. You owe it to them to tell them._

Bucky sighs. That’s it, then.

“There’s actually… ‘Kay, there’s something I need to tell you guys. But I need you to promise not to freak out.”

“Uh…” Clint starts.

“No,” Natasha says, simple as that. “People don’t say ‘don’t freak out’ unless it’s something to freak out about. I can’t tell you how I’ll react when I don’t know what you’re going to tell us.”

“I…” Bucky aborts the rest of the sentence, replacing it with a pathetic sound in his throat. He wants the assurance of a guarantee; the selfish desperation to know that they won’t get upset with him, despite that being the last thing Bucky’s entitled to ask from them. He made his bed. Now he has to lie in it. He draws in a shaky breath, knowing he has to try again.

“Okay… Okay, um…” Staring down at his hands, Bucky’s mouth twists up. “You guys remember what happened between Alex and me in sophomore year…”

“Like we could forget,” Clint mumbles under his breath.

“Yes,” Natasha says warily.

“And you remember how… um, how I swore I’d never go anywhere near him again…”

“Yes.”

Bucky’s face is so hot he could fry an egg on it. Throat tightening, shame strangling him, he forces himself to try and keep going: “Okay… Well… Um, it’s just…”

There’s a long pause, way too long, and Clint’s the one to break it when he asks, “Dude, _what?_ Just say it! What?”

“I sort of… kept seeing him,” Bucky finally admits, sheepish.

The response is immediate and pretty much exactly what Bucky was expecting.

“You _what?_ ” Clint all but shouts, eyes widening.

Next to him, Natasha’s mouth drops. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“I know…”

“Were you out of your fucking mind?” She doesn’t even _need_ to yell for Bucky to feel the brunt of her words smacking him across the face. Natasha rarely raises her voice. She doesn’t need to. When she’s angry, you know.

“Jesus Christ,” Clint’s groaning out, lifting his hand to his forehead as he shakes his head. He keeps looking away but then back to Bucky, eyes still round and disbelieving.

“I know, I--”

“Was the _first_ time not a big enough lesson?” Natasha interrupts him. “Seriously, what the hell were you even thinking?”

“I – I _wasn’t_ , clearly,” Bucky croaks out. “I just--”

Natasha cuts him off again, demanding to know, “How long?”

“What?”

“How long did you keep seeing him?”

Bucky can’t remember the last time he felt so ashamed. It’s not an easy thing to confess. Making another weak noise, he exhales and shakes his head, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. Using the opportunity to shy away from their scrutinizing gaze, he sighs, “Right before senior year started. That was the last time.”

“Bucky!” Clint exclaims, already sounding exasperated.

He winces. “I _know_! I know, I’m sorry! Okay? But – but that really was the last time, I swear. I haven’t gone back to him since, I promise, I _promise_ I’m not lying now. To me, it was _over_ -over. For good. That’s why I said no tonight.”

His friends go silent. Bucky almost wishes they’d keep yelling at him. That’d be better than the way they’re looking at him right now – watching them try and process this information and think whatever it is they’re thinking and feel the weight of their disappointment crushing down on his shoulders.

“Please say something,” he whispers. They share a glance, no surer of what they’re _supposed_ to say than Bucky is. “Just… whatever you’re thinkin’, just say it. I can take it. Look, I know I fucked up, okay? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept it from you--”

“You think?” Clint asks.

“No, you shouldn’t have opened that door again, _period_ ,” says Natasha.

“I _know_ ,” Bucky repeats for the millionth time, this time with a little more annoyance.

That’s what he’s saying: he’s well aware that what he did was stupid, and that he should have learned the first time, and that he has no one to blame but himself, and all that shit. He made a mistake and he’s trying to finally own up to it. He already feels bad enough, and he knows they have every right to be mad. But he still doesn’t need them to lay it on thick and make him feel even worse by twisting the knife while it’s stuffed into his guts, telling him shit he more than already knows.

“Look, you don’t think I regret it?” he asks. “You don’t think that _every time_ I have to see him I don’t wish I’d done things differently? I _do_. It was stupid, I know that, and – that’s why I’m telling you. I should’ve told you before and I’m sorry I didn’t, but I’m telling you _now_. It’s never gonna happen again and I just want it to be done with. I want that shit out of my life.”

“I just don’t get it,” Natasha says. “How did you even think that was ever a good idea? After everything he put you through. No, not just you – _us_ too, the both of us,” she corrects herself, gesturing between her and Clint. “You know I could’ve gotten expelled for you! I could’ve gotten _arrested_ \--”

“I never _asked_ you to beat the shit out of him, Natasha!”

“It’s not as if you left me much of a choice!”

“Oh,” Bucky spits out bitterly, “well, I’m so _sorry_ that I was such a fuckin’ burden that you felt you had to go clean up my messes--”

“Hey! Enough!” Clint barks. Bucky and Natasha shut up, and he lifts his hands, expression softening. “Listen,” he says to them both, “we need to calm down, okay? Look… Everyone is still downstairs. We don’t need this being bigger than it needs to be. We’re all just a little upset right now. So let’s just – let’s just take a deep breath and talk about this like adults.”

Begrudgingly, Natasha’s mouth tightens but she nods. “Sorry,” she mutters.

“Me too,” Bucky says.

Clint regards them both and then nods, too. “Okay… Look Barnes, you had to know what we’d think when you told us. You didn’t really think everything would be hunky dory, did you?”

Bucky averts his eyes and keeps them on the ground. He shakes his head, mumbles, “No. I knew you’d freak. That’s why I didn’t wanna say anything.”

“Yeah well, lying to us for two years wasn’t exactly the smartest choice you ever made either,” Clint replies, pointedly but without malice. “Would we have still felt the same way if you’d told us way sooner? Yeah, probably, but part of why it’s such a shocker is ‘cause you _didn’t_ tell us. We wouldn’t have liked it, and you know we would’ve been trying to stop you, but we wouldn’t have, like, hated you for it. In case that was what you were wondering. We wouldn’t have stopped being your friend.”

Bucky looks back up to him then. Clint continues, “But you _know_ better than anyone that what happened didn’t just involve you. You were a wreck for months, and _we_ were the ones there to try and make things better. And no, Bucky’s right, he never asked you to get involved,” he then says, turning his attention to Natasha.

“He didn’t ask any of us to. But you’re our friend,” he tells Bucky, “and you were in way too much over your head to go at it alone. So… yeah, I get why Natasha’s pissed. I am, too. Pierce fucked a lot of shit up for a while, and for you to go back to that after we tried so hard to help you and make sure it was over… You’re smarter than that, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes are wet, face screwed up. He nods. “I know… I’m sorry…”

“I know,” Clint says. “I know you are. And you _did_ tell us. That’s what matters. Better late than never, right?” He looks back to Natasha, and after a few seconds, tentatively places a hand on her back. He quietly murmurs, “You know this had nothing to do with us, Tasha. C’mon, you know that. We all fuck up.”

Her frown deepens, but the steeliness held in her eyes eases up. “I know.”

“I think you two need to hug or something. Barnes?”

Bucky looks to her, hopeful but trying not to get his hopes up. He and Natasha don’t know how to stay mad at each other – she said it herself – but sometimes when she gets particularly hurt, she isolates her and withdraws for a while to recover. Until she’s ready to put herself back out there again. Bucky could see her going to him about as much as he could see her abruptly turning and leaving the room without another word, with no intention of speaking much to Bucky for the rest of the night.

But she does come to him. Slowly, and not directly for a hug, either, but to take a seat next to him on the edge of her bed. Clint remains standing for a second, but then decides to join, filling the empty space to Bucky’s left. Natasha takes several breaths to collect herself and get her thoughts together. Bucky waits – skin crawling with anxiety, and resisting the urge to start bouncing his knee, but he waits.

Finally meeting his eyes, Natasha strikes him as _shaken_ when she asks, “Do you want to know why I’m _really_ upset about this? Why I’m mad? It’s not because you didn’t tell us, even though, yeah, I’m not exactly happy about that. It’s because you put yourself in danger. Pierce is _not_ a good person, Yasha. Just because he never put his hands on you _before_ doesn’t mean I’d put it past him if he was pushed hard enough.”

Bucky’s stomach drops. Honestly, of all the things he’d considered over the years, that admittedly wasn’t one of them. Sure, there was always the wonder in the back of his head of whether Alex could ever be capable of that, but… Bucky had always just sort of assumed the answer – however bad things could’ve potentially gotten again – was no.

She continues, “And all it took was _one_ time for you to finally turn him down, and – what would’ve happened if we all weren’t at prom? What if this happened back then, with no one else around? You might not have hit him a year ago. What then?

“It’s the _not knowing_ that’s making me freak out. It’s realizing you put yourself back into danger, and I never even knew. Something could’ve happened to you, something _way_ worse than what happened last time, and we might not’ve been able to get there in time. _That’s_ why I’m mad.”

Bucky nods, because he doesn’t know what to say. Somehow her answer is both better and worse than anything else she could’ve told him. It’s like when you fuck up but then you’re parents tell you they ‘aren’t mad, just disappointed’. That seems to have the ability to cut even deeper; really drive the point home. Maybe it’s because Bucky understands. He’s disappointed in his own actions, too. He always was, even when it was happening… It was complicated…

Maybe it also has to do with the fact that Bucky can’t stand the thought of worrying Natasha as much as he now knows he has. Had anything actually happened to him, she’d find a way to internalize the blame and make it her own fault. For not knowing, for not being there to protect him.

It’s why she _had_ stepped in the first time and got involved with Alex. Bucky never asked her to, but he didn’t have to – when it comes to her friends, Natasha would probably die if it meant protecting them. That’s just the type of person she’s always been.

He slowly covers her hand with his. It’s tense, as is the rest of her, but after a moment she tips it out as an invitation for Bucky to better slide his palm against hers and slot their fingers together. “I never meant to make you upset. Either of you,” he says with a glance in Clint’s direction. “I always hated that I was lying to you guys. I know I shouldn’t have done it, or kept doin’ it, I… just…"

“We know,” Clint says, “it’s okay. I’m not even mad anymore.”

Bucky gets a weak smile. “That was fast…”

“I just needed a minute to get over it, s’all.”

“I’m still mad,” Natasha says. They both glance to her and Bucky’s face falls again. Then she clarifies, “Not at you. Just… mad. At the situation. Mostly at Pierce.”

“Now I’m _really_ regretting not getting to see you punch him out earlier,” says Clint.

“I need…” Natasha lets out a barely audible huff, shaking her head, frustrated. “I need you to try and help me understand. Like… why? Why go back at all? I just don’t get it.”

It’s not quite as easy as a single straightforward answer, though Bucky knows that’d make everything a whole lot simpler right now for his friends – maybe even himself. He’s never fully understood his reasoning either. Only that it made sense at the _time_ while always making absolutely no sense at all. And on a logical level, Bucky had seen both sides of that; before, during, and after every time it happened again.

So he shakes his head to himself, shrugging his shoulders. “Looking back on it, I’m not sure I even know,” he admits. Natasha gets a strange look at that. “I know it sounds like bullshit, but I’m really not. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not like it was a week later or anything when it started again. It was probably a good six or seven months.

“Then… we were at some stupid party, and he kept lookin’ at me, and… we were drinking. I know that’s not an excuse,” he quickly says, because he knows exactly how that must sound. “I just… I dunno. One second we were downstairs, doin’ our own thing, not even talking to each other. And the next, he followed me into the bathroom upstairs. I knew it was wrong, but… I did it anyway. Then I guess I just… kept doing it.”

His stomach is twisting with self-loathing just recalling all these details. This might be the one major time in his life that he’ll always wish he could go back and change.

“It didn’t even happen all that often,” he tells them. “Maybe only, like, once every few months. Other than that, we didn’t hang out. We didn’t even talk. The only time we texted was when he’d get a hold of me out of nowhere and wanted to hook up. It wasn’t like before. And I didn’t feel the same as before either. I really didn’t. It was just sex. That was it."

“You’re lucky it never got messy again,” Clint says after everyone’s fallen silent for almost a whole minute. “I mean, aside from tonight.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky says. “He threatened to tell you guys, and – I don’t even really think that he actually would, but… I wanted you to hear it from me, just in case. I know I screwed up. But like I said, it’s been almost a year since that happened and I was already way over it. I never want that guy touchin’ me again. Like, at all. And I actually mean it this time, I swear. M’not just saying that.”

The only positive thing is that Natasha _does_ know Bucky’s completely serious about that, if only because she knows all about Steve. And luckily for Bucky, Clint’s a lot more laidback when it comes to shit like this. He’s always been amused by drama but allergic to actually being in the middle of it. So Bucky knows that, as far as Clint’s concerned, the issue is probably already over with.

So he sets his focus on Natasha. Of the two of them, she’d be the one in need of more convincing. “Are we okay?” he asks, giving her hand a tiny shake. “I promise, there’s nothin’ else. Now you know everything. And I won’t lie to you or do any dumbass thing like that again… ‘kay?”

She slowly nods, giving his hand a squeeze back. “Of course we’re okay. It’d take a lot more than that to make me walk away. Just… the lying thing is a touchy subject for me--”

Apologetic, Bucky whispers, “I know…”

“--So just… no more of that, ‘kay? As much as you can help it, at least?” She offers him a small half-smile as her way of trying to tell him that everything between them is just fine and she really means it. Bucky swears again that he won’t, so she tips her chin in a minute nod and then reaches up to palm the back of his head.

“Good. That’s all I can ask,” she says, rising and pulling Bucky towards her to plant a kiss on the side of his head. She gets off the bed, lightening the atmosphere by announcing, “Alright, well… Now that _that’s_ all done with, everyone’s probably assumed that we _died_ , so we should probably head downstairs. I don’t know about you two but I could definitely use a drink.”

Clint grins, also getting up and asking Natasha who’d all brought what in terms of alcohol, if she knew. Just like that, the subject’s over with and changed. Inside, Bucky relaxes considerably to see that they actually _have_ forgiven him. Really, they hardly even got _nearly_ as mad as Bucky thought they would. He finally fessed up and was able to get that weight off his chest, and damn was that ever necessary.

Bucky knows it’s not over yet. Steve still needs to know. Bucky has to tell him, he has to. But for now, this is _something_ , and it’s still a major relief knowing he isn’t hiding that part of his past from them, at least.

As they all start to head towards the door, Natasha stops and says, “Oh, shit, I totally forgot. Hey Clint, would you mind running down ahead of us and we can meet you in a sec? Just tell everyone we’re talking quickly but we’ll be right down.” Clint raises an inquisitive brow, so Natasha explains, “There’s just one other thing I have to talk to James about, but it’s sort of private.”

Clint glances between them. He nods, giving her a small smile. “Sure. No problem. See you down there.”

Bucky remembers their conversation at prom earlier. Feeling bad, unable to help from wondering just how often Clint _does_ feel like the odd one out between the three of them. He and Natasha share a quick glance, and it’s evident she shares his guilt. “Just one second,” she says to Bucky before leaving the room, rounding the corner, and following after Clint.

Bucky hears as much as Natasha saying his name, but then he hears nothing else. He waits a few seconds, wondering what they could possibly doing that’s so silent, especially when he’s standing right by the door and it’s still wide open. So he decides to be a snoop and shamelessly peek around the corner. The sight he’s met with makes him grin.

Clint’s hand is on Natasha’s waist – the other, still awkwardly gripping the can of Coke he’d been sneaking off with – but Bucky has the distinct impression that she’s definitely the one who initiated the kiss they’re currently sharing. She’s got Clint’s face in her hands, and though it appears she’s controlling the kiss, Clint eagerly meets it, surprised but impassioned. It’s only once he’s already stumbled upon them that it dawns on Bucky: he’s more than likely witnessing their very _first_ kiss.

“I knew it,” Bucky states proudly. The two very promptly break apart, Clint turning so many shades of red that Bucky’s pretty sure he just made a few of them up on the spot. Waving a hand, he says with merriment, “Oh, don’t stop on my part. This is way better than porn.”

Even Natasha’s cheeks seem to be wearing a faint blush, though the lighting is dimmer in the hallway, so maybe that’s Bucky’s imagination. She gets a little smirk, rolling her eyes. Clint clears his throat and stammers out a lame attempt at a reply, before straightening and smoothing down the front of his shirt. Bucky, still beaming, opens his mouth to say more. Clint points at him.

“ _Ah!_ ” he interrupts, “Not another _word_.”

Bucky laughs and makes to protest, but Clint just keeps shushing him until Bucky throws up his hands in surrender. They stare each other down, until Bucky’s goofy grin causes Clint to crack. With a trace of an embarrassed smile, Clint ducks his head and chuckles out, “Shut the fuck up,” as he turns to head downstairs.

“I didn’t say anything!” Bucky sweetly calls after him. Clint flips him the bird, so Bucky replies, “You’re _welcome!_ ” Natasha’s already taking him by the arm and pulling him back into her room, shutting the door behind her. “So I was totally right,” Bucky says to her, crossing his arms in smug satisfaction. “I knew you liked him, I _knew_ it.”

“We can talk about that later.”

He pouts. “Aww, come on, you mean you’re not gonna tell me now?”

“No, I wanna talk about Steve.”

That’s enough to get Bucky to stop kidding around; that single sentence as good as ice water being dumped over his head. Apprehensively, he asks, “What _about_ Steve?”

“C’mon James, you think this whole time when you’ve been saying all that stuff about being ‘too afraid to tell us’, I didn’t already know you weren’t _just_ referring to me and Clint? So… What’s up? Is everything okay?” she asks softly.

Bucky frowns. “I don’t… Yeah? I guess so?”

“I’m not gonna pry. You don’t have to tell me the details if you don’t want to. All I want to know is if _you’re_ alright. That’s all I care about.”

As he exhales, Bucky visibly sags again from where he stands. Running a hand through his hair, he replies, “I – I don’t know. I don’t even fuckin’ know, Nat. Everything’s fine, but it’s also not, and I don’t know what to do. I mean – _ugh_ , I know what to do, I just don’t wanna do it. Not because I don’t wanna do it, just… Fuck, I’m making no sense, am I?”

Natasha’s barely-there smile turns sympathetic. “Yeah, not really.”

Bucky makes himself take a deep breath. Taking his time, he tries again. “Okay… It’s like… All that stuff I just told you guys? He doesn’t know about any of it. And when I say _any_ of it, I don’t just mean the shit with Alex, I actually mean _any_ of it. All of it. Not about Alex, not about UCLA, not even about what I used to be like before he came along.”

“What do you mean, what you ‘used to be like’?” she asks, green eyes narrowing like Bucky’s phrasing tastes off-putting.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. I don’t mean it as some sort of bad thing. C’mon, you know me. I just mean, he doesn’t know about – all that.”

That brings her some relief. “Okay,” she says. “Sorry, just didn’t want you suddenly believing all that shit Alex or anyone else said, all because of Steve. I would’ve had a lot of opinions you probably wouldn’t like if you’d said something like that.”

Bucky turns and leans his back to the wall next to the door. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he looks down to the floor and shrugs one shoulder. Seconds later and he sighs again. “Look, I’m not gonna lie, if Steve suddenly saw me differently about _that_ , I’d still be hurt. I’d be _pissed_ , and I’d have a lot of shit to say to him, too, but it’d hurt. I’m not saying it wouldn’t.”

“I know.”

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Bucky lifts his gaze to meet hers. “You don’t think he’d feel that way, do you?”

“I don’t really know him,” she admits. “But from everything you’ve ever told me, I think I’d be surprised. Do _you_ think he would – about _any_ of the things you haven’t told him yet?”

Bucky chuckles, a hollow sound. “I don’t know. I wanna say no. I know him, and – most of me is sayin’ that all this fear n’ shit is just in my head. He saw I’ve been acting weird this week, too, and I _know_ he wants to talk about it, but every single time I just… couldn’t. Every time he doesn’t push, I tell myself that’s proof that I’m getting myself worked up for nothin’. But… there’s still the _chance_. That seems bad enough. So… Yeah, I don’t know.”

Natasha thinks on that. First she nods to herself. Then she asks, “Has he ever given you any reason to think he’d do something like that?”

“No.”

The answer is immediate. That’s not even a doubt, which is why Bucky’s been so conflicted. Steve’s never done a single thing to make him think he couldn’t confide in Steve about this sort of shit and walk out of it with him still on Bucky’s side. Bucky’s never thought about it like that before. The more he does, the more he wonders if that’s exactly the reason why – in the same breath – it’s made him so scared.

“Then…” Natasha touches his arm, “…what is it? Why’re you afraid to tell him?”

Bucky’s eyes fill with tears, the answer suddenly crystal clear. Everything making sense, but by no means feeling any easier to face.

With a rueful smile, he answers, “Because you don’t understand. You don’t… I – I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel about him. Like… This is gonna sound cliché as hell, but… You know, I remember the first time he kissed me… Somethin’ in my gut just went, _This is right_. It was like I knew before the rest of me caught up. It wasn’t ‘till I realized I’d fallen deep that I knew I’d loved him since that kiss.

“I _do_ love him, Natasha,” Bucky quietly admits, setting his teary eyes on her. They don’t fall, but they’re not letting up either. “I never loved no one before, you know that. I never knew that sort of thing even existed ‘till him – that fairy tale, romance flick sort of stuff. With like… butterflies, and weak knees, and all that shit. It’s stupid, but it’s fuckin’ _real_. I didn’t know I wanted that ‘till I got it.

“Sometimes it feels _too_ perfect, and… I keep expecting it to get fucked up. Something that good doesn’t usually _stay_ good, not forever. And the thought of that – that’s… I don’t…” Bucky sniffles, raising his stare to the ceiling. One corner of his mouth quirks up. “You know, he… he _looks_ at me like – I can’t even describe it. Like I’m the only thing that exists. Sometimes I wait for him to look at me and realize I’m not as great as he thinks I am.”

He needs to stop for a second; _breathe in, and out…_ Gather himself before he actually does cry. It passes, and he gently clears his throat.

“When I’m with him, I feel like… like I’m the best version of myself,” he continues unevenly. “He makes me want to be everything I could be, y’know? I don’t want anyone else. I know I never will. I just want… a _life_ with him someday, whatever that life turns out to be. I don’t even know if I believe in soulmates and shit, but I still know he’s the guy I’m meant to be with.

“And,” he chuckles sardonically, “if I wasn’t completely sure of that, do you  _really_ think I’d wanna be in a relationship so fucking complicated? Nine times outta ten I want to rip my fucking hair out ‘cause it can never be simple for us, and it ain’t ever gonna be. But he’s worth it, I know he is. I could never feel the way I do with anyone else.”

Natasha hums softly. Slowly, she nods. Though not ever to this extent before, Bucky _has_ opened up to her about his feelings for Steve. “I guess when the stakes are that high, it only makes it that much harder to lose,” she muses.

Bucky gives her another sorrowful smile. “I don’t know what I’d do if he didn’t look at me the same anymore. I guess I’ve gotten so used to him loving me that I’ve forgotten how to exist without it.”

Natasha’s smile matches his own. She reaches up and cups the side of his face, stroking it with her thumb. “That’s not going to happen,” she tells him, and Bucky knows she’s probably just saying that to try and make him feel better.

That’s okay. It helps.

She continues, “If he feels about you the way you say he does, it won’t happen. He wouldn’t let it. But either way, I think you need to stop driving yourself crazy over it and just tell him. You’ll feel better.”

Bucky’s breath hitches, so tiny a fumble he barely hears it. “What if he--?”

“Then he’ll be making the biggest mistake of his life,” Natasha assures him, “and you’ll still have all of us who love you and’ll help you get through it. But you need to talk to him, even if it’s just for yourself. You can’t keep beating yourself up with all these ‘what ifs’. You’ll feel a lot better.”

Bucky leans a little against her hand, closing his eyes and exhaling through his nose. “Okay,” he whispers. She’s not wrong. At least, he hopes so.

“Okay.” Pulling her hand back, she opens up the door, pausing only once more to reassure him that no matter what, everything will be okay.

“‘Kay.” Bucky lingers behind, still working on trying to believe that. “Um… You go ahead. I’ll meet you down there, I just need to use the bathroom. Think for a minute.”

Understandingly, she nods. “Okay. Take your time. We’ll see you down there.”

“Thanks, Nat.”

She heads for the stairwell. Bucky listens to the footfalls softening as they get further and further away. He shuts the door to her room, locking it behind him. He still hasn’t stripped out of his jacket yet, so he does that first. After tossing it unceremoniously onto the floor beside the bed, Bucky makes his way into the adjoining bathroom. That door gets locked, too. Just to be safe.

He’s not overly sure what he was even intending to do with himself once Natasha left. There wasn’t really a plan. Bucky just needed a minute to be alone… Absorb everything… That was a lot to take in. Mostly good results, which was and _is_ a relief--

 _Positives,_ his logic tries to encourage him.

 _Oh shut up_ , the rest of Bucky groans, exhausted and five-hundred percent done for one night.

Turning on the tap in the sink, Bucky runs the water until it’s a nice, brisk temperature. Bending forward, he cups his hands together under the stream and then splashes what he’s gathered across his face. There’s a purple hand-towel hanging on the wall beside him, but after wiping the water out of his eyes, Bucky straightens back up and doesn’t use it. Instead, he stares at his reflection, watching the droplets of water roll down his face until they’ll bead along his jawline and drop away.

He thinks. His reflection stares back, and Bucky thinks. He thinks about how his conversations with Clint and Natasha had gone, about what Natasha had said, what Steve had said earlier… Reaching up, Bucky undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt. This time, when he pulls it aside to stare at the marks left on his skin, no one interrupts him. This time, looking at them leaves Bucky feeling like… like he doesn’t really know _what_ to feel…

He thinks. About every memory he ever had with Alex – good and bad, but mostly bad. Even when Bucky told himself they weren’t. He thinks about what it’d be like for Steve to leave him, and thinks about what it’d be like to live nearly a whole country away from him if he didn’t. Bucky thinks, and he wishes he could stop but he can’t. He’s still tearing up, but they’re not shedding. Bucky feels like he’s wearing one of his masks again; this one blank, with a thousand-yard stare. But he knows it’s no mask, and Bucky thinks, but he doesn’t know what to think of _that_.

It must be a good five minutes later that Bucky turns away and walks toward the toilet, absentmindedly undoing his belt. Balling up some toilet paper, he tugs down his pants first, his boxer briefs next. Bucky thinks, and he thinks – _of what to do next, of all the possible outcomes, of how he’s been over the last week_ – but he chooses not to think too hard about the fact that he’s reaching behind himself with one hand and carefully tugging on the base of the plug.

It’s a smooth slide out. One second it’s a part of him, the next, he’s gaping and uncomfortably loose. Now the plug is in his hand. It’s warm and messy with lube and come. Steve’s come… _Steve’s…_ The tap’s still on, so Bucky disposes the plug in the sink. He’ll wash it up and then stash it away in his jacket or something. If he bundles it up and carries it under his arm when he leaves the next day, it won’t be noticeable.

What _is_ noticeable, however, is the sensation of Steve’s ejaculate beginning to slip past his rim, nothing there to trap it any longer. At first, Bucky’s numb to the implication of that feeling, because he’s thinking. He’s thinking about lots of stuff, but that’s not one of them. The hand with the toilet paper swiftly reaches back to catch as much as it can. Bucky has to go back twice more for toilet paper before he feels cleaned up, the last of the come wiped away. Flushing the toilet, Bucky watches the evidence swirl around and around. And then it disappears.

It still doesn’t sink in right away – not for another moment or so. Bucky’s in the middle of doing his belt back up when his movements start to slow… Eyes gaining back some clarity… He meets his reflection again; brows knitting, mouth petering open…

It’s such a fucking stupid thing, that realizing he’s no longer filled with Steve’s come would be the breaking point. But it is. It’s stupid and it’s pathetic, but it _is._

He’d wanted the pressure out of him, and physically, it’s relieving to be rid of the strain. But that’d also been his piece of Steve, his little reminder. As this dawns on him, that empty feeling seems to spread throughout his entire body, washing over his heart and clutching onto it mercilessly. Without any warning, Bucky feels the full extent of its loss.

And he feels like an idiot for caring so much – letting it get him so fucking upset – because he _knows_ it’s an irrational reason to cry. But he cries anyways. He finally cries.

Natasha was right, he can’t keep all this pent up anymore. He knows it’d be fairer to Steve to do this in person, but that’s not exactly an option and Bucky can’t wait a second longer. He can’t do this, he can’t do this, _he cannot fucking do this_. He should’ve just told Steve as soon as things started bothering him.

Bucky should’ve just talked to him. He knows that now. Anything would be better than having so much shit eating away at him inside. Scrambling, Bucky reaches into his pant pocket and retrieves his phone. He’s never been so nervous, hands trembling and his breathing rough. His eyes are already reddening around the rims, one tear slipping down his cheek, and then another, then another.

But this is something he has to do – _please god, don’t let him leave._

The phone rings once… twice… three times… Still Steve doesn’t pick up, and with every unanswered ring, Bucky better tastes his heart in his mouth. Maybe he’s still at prom. It was running until eleven, and it’s only just past eleven-thirty now. He could’ve gone out afterwards for drinks with his friends. Maybe the chaperons had to stay behind longer to help the staff clean up. Bucky doesn’t know how that sort of thing works.

With a sinking feeling, he assumes he’s about to get the answering machine. He considers whether or not he should leave Steve a voicemail; ask Steve to call him back and then waste time hanging out by himself in Natasha’s bathroom, just on the off chance that his phone will ring soon. But this really isn’t one of those things Bucky can try and cram into a message. And his friends all are currently two floors below him, laughing and drinking and enjoying their time together – and Bucky knows that’s not something he should spend his night missing out on.

Bottom lip trembling, he’s about to hang up when suddenly the current ring in his ear is disrupted and cut short. After a brief pause, he hears from the other end of the line, “Bucky?”

Bucky closes his eyes at the sound of Steve’s voice, face pinching up. Turning around, he leans back against the edge of the counter and exhales a small breath. “Steve…”

“Is everything alright? You okay?”

“I’m… fine. I’m fine,” Bucky says, quiet. “Um… are you home? Or – I mean, ‘cause if you’re out, then forget about it. I can go, it’s not an emergency.”

“No, it’s fine. I actually just got in,” Steve says dismissively, clearly not caring about that. By the tone of his voice, Bucky gets the impression that it doesn’t matter _where_ he would’ve been – he still would’ve found a way to get somewhere private so he could take the call.

“What’s up, what’s going on? I thought you’d be hanging out with everyone,” Steve says. When Bucky doesn’t answer, his voice is soft and protective as he presses, “Sweetheart… Are you okay? If something happened, if you need me to come pick you up--”

“No, I’m – sorry, no, I’m okay,” Bucky answers. Frustrated, shaking everywhere, he rubs at his eyes, slumping more of his weight against the counter pushing against his tail bone. “It’s not… I’m just…”

“Deep breath, baby. Just take your time; it’s okay. Where are you right now?”

“Natasha’s bathroom.”

“And where’s everyone else?”

“Downstairs in the basement. I’m alone, don’t – no one can hear me, don’t worry.”

“I’m not really worried about that right now, Buck,” Steve says. “I’m more so concerned that you’re by yourself right now. I don’t like knowing you’re alone when you…”

Bucky hears him sigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Steve makes a sad sound. “Oh… Baby, no. There’s nothing to be sorry for, please don’t say – Listen, whatever it is? It’s gonna be okay. I’m right here. Not going anywhere, alright?”

Even though Steve can’t see him, Bucky nods. He’s still shaking, limbs heavy and unnervingly light at the same time. His saliva tastes sour, but no matter how many times Bucky tries to swallow, he can’t make it go away. He’s standing on the edge of a cliff; balancing on one foot with the other dangling forward in the air, threatening to steal the rest of his weight and tip him over.

Bucky knows he has to hurl himself off. Fall. Take his chances and risk the impact.

He can’t do it anymore; struggle to keep his balance on this cliff because he’s too afraid to fall _._ It’s too hard.

Knowing there’s no turning back, Bucky’s lips part: “I think I’m ready to talk now.”

There’s a pause.

“Really?” Steve asks, surprised. He sounds like he might even be relieved. It’s not like Bucky could blame him if he was, not with how worried Bucky must’ve made him over the last week. But still he double-checks, “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this right now just ‘cause you think I want you to, Buck. You’re with your friends, and – we’re seeing each other tomorrow. Maybe we should wait until we’re actually together to--”

“No,” Bucky cuts him off. Yes, he would _prefer_ that. Of course he would. But he can’t take the easy way out just because it’s being offered to him. It’s tempting, but he can’t, _he just fucking can’t anymore._

“It can’t wait,” he says. “I’m going out of my fuckin’ mind. I need to talk now, or – or else I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. But I want to talk right now.”

“Okay, okay Buck, that’s okay,” Steve quickly replies, gentle. “We can talk right now then. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t doing it for me ‘cause… Never mind, that doesn’t matter. Just – yes, of course we can talk now.”

Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek. “There’s a lot that I… I need to say, and… I need you to promise not to say anything until I’m finished.”

Steve gives him his word, trying his hardest to sound unassuming. Bucky can hear it. But Bucky can also hear that trace of fear, right there in the background. Bucky tries to imagine how all of this would sound if the roles were reversed, and Steve was the one telling him those words.

Bucky knows exactly how scared that’d make him feel. So he assures him, “I didn’t cheat on you or nothing. Just – just so we’re clear. I don’t want you worrying that’s what I’m gonna say. It’s got nothing to do with you, actually. Not really. I just… Please don’t worry about that, if you were, okay?”

Steve sounds even less sure when he murmurs again, “Okay…”

“I…” Bucky’s bouncing his knee nervously, the rest of him on the verge of either passing out or retching. _Just fucking do it, Barnes._ He clears his throat, still swallowing mouthfuls of throat-tightening, sickly sweet saliva. “I wasn’t telling the full truth earlier, in the stairwell. About Alex Pierce. You remember me saying I… that I hated him?”

“Yeah…”

“Well I slept with him, too,” he makes himself confess. “It was all before you and me, obviously, but… it was a mess. It was a fucking shit show and… a lot happened. A lot. I need you to hear all this from me in case – in case he… I just need you to hear this from _me_ , okay?”

“Bucky, what happened tonight?” Steve’s asking, already starting to sound distressed.

“Please don’t interrupt me,” Bucky pleads. “You promised, Steve. You promised me.”

A few seconds pass. Steve sighs and says, “Sorry. You’re right, I won’t… Go on.”

Bucky slowly slides down to the floor, sitting back against the small door beneath the sink. Tipping his head back, Bucky closes his eyes, mouth still an uneven line. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” he says. His voice breaks. “And I don’t know if by the time this conversation ends you’re still gonna feel the same about me, so… I need you to know that I love you. And – and you can decide whatever you want once I’m done… whether you still want this or not. But I love you.”

“I… I love you, too…” Bucky hears Steve whisper. So faint that it might’ve been said more to himself than for Bucky’s ears. That should make him feel better.

It doesn’t really. Not yet.

“You’re not gonna like a lot of what I say,” Bucky warns him, pushing on, “but I just need you to please remember your promise and not say anything ‘till I’m done. You won’t like it, but… you’ll at least know I’m telling you the truth. No lies… okay?”

“Okay…”

“Okay.” Bucky gives himself a moment to steady himself the best he can; _deep breath in, then out_. He’s still trembling. Finally tipping his weight forward, Bucky sacrifices his balance and plummets off the cliff.

* * *

The truth actually requires admitting to one more lie. It’s perhaps one of the only things in Bucky’s whole life that he regrets more than anything else. But once upon a time it’d happened, and Bucky can’t change that. He can deny it all he wants – to the people around him, mostly to himself – but that doesn’t change anything. And the truth is… Before Steve Rogers, Bucky never wanted a relationship. 

With one exception.

It was every cliché teenage rom-coms were made of: Alexander Pierce was the hottest, most popular kid in their grade. Had been for as long as Bucky could remember, even as far back as elementary school. He played junior varsity football, and dated the prettiest girls, and had a Mustang before he even had his learner’s permit, without ever having to have worked a day in his life to earn it.

Because his parents were made of money, he was notorious for throwing the best parties, in a house so big you’d think some A-lister lived there. It had an in-ground pool and a hot tub and everything. Alex’s parents never seemed to be around, but they always gave him free reign with minimal rules – if any – when left unsupervised.

When anyone else threw a party, it meant scrambling to figure out whose older sibling would be willing to do you a solid and buy you some illegal alcohol for the occasion. With Alex, there was always an entire liquor cabinet at his disposal – and anyone else who was lucky enough to be there. Even that young, his parents never seemed to care. In every conceivable way, on the outside, Alex was a walking example of living the American dream.

It was more than that, though. He wasn’t just athletic and exciting, he was also smart. He participated in the school’s Debate Team and was passionate about current events. He wanted to one day become involved with politics because it was his dream to make the world a better place, ridding it of its many injustices.

And his smile… It was mesmerizing. One of those smiles that could light up a room and infect every single person in it until they were smiling back. Sometimes, it was like the guy was too good to be true, because only in fiction can you find someone _that_ good-looking, _that_ talented, _that_ popular – and then find that he was also _kind_ , and _funny_ , and _intelligent_ on top of all that.

To pretty much the entire world, Alexander Pierce was perfect.

And Bucky absolutely adored him.

It wasn’t like that was very surprising. _Everyone_ wanted Alex on some level. Most people wanted to be included in his social circle. Others pined after him. Bucky, as it were, fell into the latter.

Not that they really spoke much. They didn’t. In fact, they’d been going to the same school since the third grade, but basic conversation in passing was always the furthest it ever got. Their group of friends never overlapped enough to open the door to proper introduction. Not to mention that for most of Bucky’s childhood, he was never really much to look at. It wasn’t until his freshman year that he’d finally grown into his own and went from a wallflower to someone people looked at _twice_.

A lot had changed for Bucky after the eighth grade. Getting the shit kicked out of him after he first came out was one of the worst experiences of his life, but it also made Bucky stronger. It taught him to walk with his head held higher, empowering his resolve to _never_ apologize to anyone again for who he was.

Then add to the fact that the summer that followed, right before high school started, he and Matt Murdock finally decided to help each other out and lose their virginity together. It’d been awkward as hell the first time, and neither of them had a clue of what they were doing. But they dedicated the whole summer to it, experimenting and learning and getting _better_ , all with someone the other trusted.

It took the pressure off when you knew the other person was in the exact same boat as you. They could screw up, or accidentally knock foreheads, or trip off the bed, and all they’d do was laugh and keep going. It was laid back, with no pressure, and looking back on it, it was the best way Bucky could’ve ever had all of his first times.

When high school started, it left Bucky feeling well-equipped, like some sort of well-seasoned expert when it came to sex, despite the fact that he was only fourteen. He’d only had it with the one person, mind you, but he’d picked up a lot of tricks and knew he had a pretty solid handle on what he was doing. That knowledge alone did wonders to Bucky’s confidence – not just in himself, but what Bucky knew he _wanted_.

Freshman year was Bucky’s transitional period. He redefined his image, feeling like a brand new person entirely the first time he’d ever stepped through the doors of Shield High. For the first time ever, he was suddenly considered ‘hot’. Slowly but surely, he and his friends started getting invited to things, meeting new people, which only boosted their popularity even more.

Bucky probably would’ve gotten swept up in it initially, if not for the fact that none of his close friends actually cared enough about wanting to be part of the in-crowd. As much as the perks to the popular kids accepting them were great – and they fucking _were_ \- they were still just as happy being in their own little group at the end of the day.

They were in-betweeners – popular, rarely messed with, but not at the top of the food chain. That was just fine by them. That was the way they liked it. So that’s where Bucky liked it, too. It let him find a happy middle.

That was the beginning of Bucky gradually getting to see Alex more and more. Bucky making more friends meant that they finally had mutual ones, which meant they started getting invited to the same parties. Those nights Bucky always spent juggling back and forth between flirting with whoever had caught his eye, and finding himself trying to catch more and more glimpses of Alex whenever he could.

They never actually interacted during any of those times. There were no ‘accidentally bumping into each other and it finally leading to a conversation’ incidents. Sometimes, Alex’s gaze would accidentally fall on him and they’d share eye contact for all of maybe a second. Then it would end. That was the best Bucky got, for all of the ninth grade.

All it did was make him want more.

Sophomore year was when everything changed. Second semester, they were both in the same geography class. Near the beginning of spring, they got paired together for a presentation. For Bucky, it was like winning the lottery. He’d spent all of the previous year thinking of the guy more and more, even dreaming of him at night sometimes.

Bucky didn’t give any of that too much thought, not even then. By that point, Bucky had had more than a few hookups, with more than a few different people. It’s not like Alex was the only one Bucky fantasized about.

It’s just that Alex was the one Bucky fantasized about _most._

Maybe it was because Alex was straight and Bucky assumed it wouldn’t happen. When you know you can’t have something, most of the time it only tends to make you want it more. Bucky would have been lying if he said that the majority of the filthy scenarios in his head didn’t start out with Bucky corrupting the golden quarterback; being Alex’s big epiphany that he actually liked dick, if even a little.

In a way, that sort of wound up being exactly what happened.

Another typical cliché: Bucky and Alex started spending time together to work on their assignment. Talking about the work led to actual _talking_ , for the first time ever, and that started to lead into what Bucky could only describe as flirting. It _had_ to be flirting, there was just no other explanation for it. Stares lingered, smiles seemed to hold more to their depths – it was all incredibly confusing.

But incredibly, incomprehensibly erotic. Nothing ever actually happened between them, but the more time they spent together, the more electricity he could feel between them. The more Alex looked less at the textbook and more at Bucky’s mouth.

Once, and only once, Bucky had been hunched forward, eyes on the handout while he talked. Now, he couldn’t remember about what. All he would be able to remember was the sudden sensation of Alex’s fingertips brushing across the back of his neck.

He’d stiffened, breath catching in his throat as his eyes closed. Only after a full-body shiver caused him to tremble did he slowly open his eyes and peer over at Alex. Alex had been staring right back, arm still resting across the back of Bucky’s chair; tips of his fingers still hovering uncertainly against Bucky’s nape. His eyes looked blacker than any night’s sky Bucky had ever seen before.

And then just like that, he withdrew his hand, turned forward, and broke away from Bucky’s gaze. He picked up the conversation right from where Bucky had left it off, and Bucky didn’t know what he was supposed to do to himself.

That evening, he wound up calling up one of the seniors he’d been fooling around with as of late, Remy, and went straight to his place. Bent over the arm of the couch in Remy’s basement, Bucky kept his eyes closed and pictured that it was Alex behind him, drilling in so deep Bucky would feel it for days. When he came, he had to smother his face into the cushion so he didn’t accidentally moan out the wrong name.

The longer he spent time with Alex, the more and more that kept happening whenever Bucky got fucked by other guys.

Bucky had never really had genuine feelings for anyone before. Somewhere along the way, he realized he’d developed his first crush. His heart was always pounding whenever he was with Alex. They were always alone, and always sitting close. Alex never talked about his girlfriend – whoever she was at the time – when they were together. Bucky specifically never asked. He didn’t care about her.

The night before the class was to finally give their presentations, Alex offered to give Bucky a ride home. With his sixteenth birthday at the very beginning of January, he had been one of the first people in their class to get their license. He told Bucky he didn’t like the idea of Bucky taking the subway and getting himself into trouble. Bucky liked that Alex felt that way.

When they’d finally arrived in Bucky’s driveway, Alex turned off the ignition rather than simply place his car into park. Bucky purposely lingered, with the childish hope that something would still somehow happen, even without any real proof that Alex was still anything other than straight.

So Bucky decided to say _fuck it._ Relying on his newly acquired boldness, he made a move, grabbing the side of Alex’s neck and closing the distance between them to kiss him. Just once, just for a few seconds. Alex didn’t kiss back. It hardly lasted long enough for him to even be able to, really.

But when Bucky pulled away, Alex was staring at him with something… almost _intimidating_ in his eyes. Sure that he’d fucked everything up and that Alex would beat the shit out of him if he stayed in his car a second longer, Bucky had mumbled a hasty apology and went to open the door.

Just as he pulled on the handle and started to push, though, Alex moved so abruptly it made Bucky jump. Reaching right past Bucky, Alex grabbed the door and slammed it back shut. Bucky froze against the seat – scared and confused and more turned on than he could ever remember being before, because Alex was still leaning forward. He was still right in front of him, his face inches from Bucky’s. That unreadable steeliness was still there in his eyes, but the rest of him looked conflicted. All they did for a second was stare.

And then Alex grabbed the side of his face in one hand and dove in, slamming their mouths together. Bucky completely melted on the spot, going slack and giving Alex total control over the kiss. There was the hint of a five o’clock shadow on Alex’s cheeks. The way the stubble felt scraping against Bucky’s skin made him dizzy. It was forceful, and the fingers that’d found their way into his hair clutched at it almost brutally. Within seconds, Bucky was out of breath and painfully hard.

Disappointingly, the kiss itself didn’t last long. But still Bucky released a hot moan when he got that first taste of Alex’s tongue fucking into his mouth, and he whimpered desperately when Alex bit his bottom lip with an almost _accusatory_ growl. Way too soon, he then ended it just as fast.

They didn’t talk for a few minutes after that. Despite how tensely he appeared to be gripping the steering wheel, now with both hands, and despite the fact that he suddenly couldn’t seem to look at Bucky anymore, when Alex finally broke the silence it was to tell Bucky that he was beautiful ( _‘You know you are,’_ he’d said…). However, choosing his words carefully, he also proceeded to tell Bucky that what they just did would have to be kept a secret. He wasn’t gay, he said. He had a girlfriend.

But it was just _Bucky_ – Bucky was _different_ , there was something about him,and for a second, Alex couldn’t control himself. All Bucky heard from all of that was that Alex wanted him, too. Bucky didn’t care about the rest. He knew what he wanted, and having finally been handed the evidence that it was reciprocated, he intended to get it.

So Bucky said he understood. Of course he wouldn’t tell anyone. The rest of their conversation was brief. Alex seemed uncomfortable; at the very first opportunity, said he had to get going and head home to bed. Bucky knew it’d be best not to press any further, not unless he wanted to come across too strong and ruin everything. Alex didn’t stop him from getting out of the car that time, but he _did_ give him that heart-melting smile – _‘See you bright and early, Barnes’_ – before the engine rumbled back to life, and then he was gone.

Bucky lied in bed for hours that night, a smile on his face and Alex in his thoughts.

That was the first time they ever kissed.

That was also the last time they ever kissed.

Nothing actually happened again for a while after the incident in the car. They’d done their presentation the next day, and Alex treated Bucky the same way he ever had in public – which was the say, politely, but at an arm’s distance. Like they didn’t really know each other except for the bare minimum. Bucky didn’t let it bother him, because he understood. Alex had a reputation to maintain, and just as Bucky promised him, what’d happened the night before was something no one else could ever know about.

Clearly it had been a delicate subject for Alex. The fact that he’d maintained, even after kissing Bucky, that he wasn’t gay – the excuses he kept making to justify his actions – reaffirmed for Bucky that Alex was still very deep in the closet. So deep that he didn’t even want to admit the truth to _himself._ That tugged at Bucky’s heart strings; made him hurt for Alex. It was ridiculous, but Bucky wanted to be there for him. Maybe help him through it if he could.

But then the days kept passing, and Bucky still didn’t hear from him at all. He’d been holding out hope that Alex would’ve at least sent him a Facebook message or something, at the very least, but no. Nothing at all. And it bothered him how much that drove him crazy inside.

He carried on with his life, like Alex carried on with his, and continued doing his thing; hung with friends, kept on top of his homework, partied on weekends, and fooled around whenever he could get away with it, with whoever was up for a good time. To everyone around him, Bucky was his usual self. But beneath the surface, his mind was a one-track record replaying over and over, and all he could think about was Alex.

He wanted to text him, but always lost the nerve. Bucky didn’t even bother trying to make conversation in class anymore, and it only left him more confused that Alex didn’t seem to give a shit. Bucky pretended he didn’t care when he’d pass him in the hall and Alex’s arm was always wrapped around his girlfriend’s shoulder. He pretended even _harder_ that whenever that happened and Alex couldn’t even spare him as much as a side glance, it wasn’t always a direct hit to Bucky’s self-esteem.

He didn’t like feeling that way; being obsessive and creepy and letting the guy get to him so much when all they did was kiss _once_. If nothing else at the time, it reminded Bucky why he didn’t do relationships. He wasn’t even dating Alex and his life – at least to him – suddenly felt so much more complicated and dramatic. There was something very unsettling about giving another person that much power over affecting how Bucky felt about himself.

So he forced himself to think of Alex less. He deleted his number out of his phone; made a point to sit as far from him in class as he could. His attempts worked; by the following month, things were basically back to normal. It’d been nothing but a stupid crush, but he’d learned his lesson. Remembered why that wasn’t a thing he did, and why he preferred to stick with casual hookups. Bucky thought he was over it.

Then Brock Rumlow’s party happened.

Bucky can never look back to that night without wanting to hide his face in shame. He never knew the extents he’d let himself go to back then just to get what he wanted. That was a thing he learned the hard way.

They’d all been drinking. As usual. Rumlow’s house wasn’t as big as Alex’s, but he also lived on the Manhattan side, so his place was still much more voluminous than most of the kids’ in their grade. What mattered was that the living room had plenty enough floor space for some of the people there to start dancing, while the music from the sound system pounded all throughout the house.

Bucky was halfway through the case of coolers Ben’s cousin agreed to pick up for him, and about four body shots down. He wasn’t tanked – he rarely let himself get full-on drunk – but he was definitely tipsy; giggling at shit that wasn’t funny, talking louder than was necessary, and feeling in the mood for a little something fun. He’d already fucked around a bit with Wade Wilson in the bathroom, but still he wanted more.

He’d been in the middle of grinding up against Jessica Drew; the feel of her slim waist beneath his hands, the way her breasts pushed against his chest, and how sexy she looked whenever she tipped her chin down to stare up at him heatedly through her lashes making Bucky seriously consider – not for the first time – that he wouldn’t have many objections to fucking around with a girl if that’s what wound up happening. She smelled amazing, and it could’ve been the alcohol talking at the time, but he couldn’t help but curiously wonder what it’d be like to have his head trapped between her thighs. He’d never tasted a chick before, and he was willing to try anything once.

She could feel that he was hard against her. It was impossible not to be. That actually seemed to spur her on, making her bite at that pretty pink bottom lip of hers before smirking and giving her hips a bit of a harder twist against his. Bucky smirked back, lips thinly parted; pupils dilated and his eyes glued to hers.

She playfully mused, “I thought you were gay.”

That got Bucky laughing. Shrugging one shoulder, he said, “Labels are for soup cans and hipsters. I just like what I like.”

She stared at his mouth. “Oh, do you now?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hummed, tone dropping, huskier. “Right now, I have a pretty good idea of what that is.” She was close enough that they could start making out right there if they wanted to. And perhaps they would’ve – if not for the fact that someone caught the corner of his eye, diverting Bucky’s attention.

A split second was all it took; one look at Alex on the outskirt of the room, having walked in from the packed kitchen, beer bottle in hand. The _look_ on his face at the sight of Bucky pressed up against this girl, it made Bucky’s stomach drop and his cock pulse. It was dark… Unprepared and maybe even a little _impressed_ … But most of all, it was possessive.

Bucky wasn’t prepared for the things that look did to him. He just knew he’d do terrible things to keep having Alex look at him like that for as long as he could. So he made a point to continue dancing with Jessica. Shamelessly. Blatantly for Alex, even though no one else could’ve possible known.

As if Alex had snapped his fingers, Bucky was hardly even interested in Jessica anymore. Now, looking back on it, that makes him feel like a pig. He’d used her with no remorse, leading her on, making her more and more convinced that she and Bucky would hook up before the night was over, even though Bucky no longer had any intention of that happening.

Bucky _now_ would never intentionally use someone or manipulate them like that just for his own gain, but the Bucky _then_ couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. All she wanted was to fool around anyways, same as Bucky. It’s not like he’d gone and made false promises to trick her into falling in love with him or anything. Eventually, when he’d had enough, he made some flimsy excuse about wanting to go grab another drink. He’d be right back, he said.

He didn’t go back.

What he did instead was purposely walk right past Alex, giving him a taste of his own medicine by not even sparing him a side glance. But in his peripherals, it looked like that made Alex _smirk_. Bucky went for the stairs, sauntering up, knowing Alex would follow. And sure enough, he did.

Knowing Rumlow’s house better than Bucky, Alex wordlessly grabbed Bucky’s arm and yanked him in the opposite direction of the one Bucky had been heading in. No one saw them sneak into one of the spare bedrooms. The second the door was shut, locked, Alex was shoving him straight against it and crowding his body against Bucky’s. Bucky tried to kiss him, but Alex nudged out of it as soon as Bucky’s lips made contact. Moving fast, he instead yanked Bucky’s head back with his hand so he could start sucking and biting his way along the side of Bucky’s throat.

The music in the house was loud enough that it bled through the door. Chances were low that anyone else who might’ve been upstairs would be able to hear them even if they _did_ make some noise. All the same, whenever Alex bit down on him and Bucky yelped, Alex told him to shut up. When he practically tore Bucky’s pants open and gave his cock a few rough jerks – the first other than his own Alex had ever touched, Bucky was sure – Bucky bit his lip and whined high and wobbly in his throat, and Alex growled, “ _Quiet!_ ”

Bucky sucked on his fingers and hitched up one leg so Alex could shove them into his hole and finger-fuck him with a sort of franticness that Bucky wasn’t expecting. It stung, and Alex very clearly didn’t comprehend the difference between fingering a guy from all the girls he’d been with up to that point, but Bucky’s cock was red and hot and hard from it anyways.

Bucky kept wincing from the pain, whimpering from the pleasure that brought him, from the way Alex’s face looked, from all of it. With any and every sound that came out of him, Alex shushed him. That didn’t stop him from trying to see just how far he could thrust his fingers into Bucky’s body, though. He purposely did things to make Bucky vocalize his pleasure, but then scolded him for giving into it. A small part of Bucky found that frustrating, even hurtful.

Most of him found it fucking hot, though.

He’d try to keep quiet by attempting to catch Alex’s mouth again. He didn’t understand why Alex wouldn’t kiss him, like he had back in his car. Eventually, Alex got frustrated and snapped in a low voice, “Stop.” So Bucky did, instead biting down on Alex’s shoulder from over his shirt to stifle himself.

They’d been interrupted, though. Bucky had only just thought to wrap his hand around himself, hips rocking clumsily against Alex’s hand, when there was a sudden pounding on the other side of the door. One of Alex’s friends, Jack Rollins, called out, “Yo Pierce, you in here, man? C’mon dude, open up, I brought you a Jägerbomb!”

From there, things spiraled downward. Alex was off Bucky and on the other side of the room like he’d been physically thrown off of him, while Bucky – flushed, doe-eyed, and still noticeably hard – scrambled to yank his pants back up in record time. Sharing a look of panic, Alex then pointed at Bucky and, in a tone Bucky had never heard him use before, ordered in a low and shaky voice, “You don’t fucking tell _anyone_ about this.” All Bucky could do was nod.

If it’d ended right then and there that night, that would’ve been one thing. Except it didn’t. Because when Alex unlocked the door and made to walk _out_ , Rollins and two of their buddies – none the wiser – decided to pile _in_ , booze in hand. They saw Bucky, but their drunken states prevented them from thinking anything of it. In fact, they greeted him – Rollins even throwing an arm around his shoulder and asking what’d been up with him – and told him to stay and chill with them.

Bucky always has to skip the grittier details after that. What escalated from there was nothing but a series of bad decisions. They were all drinking; it seemed like a good idea at the time. Then one of the guys started asking Bucky about Jessica, as they’d noticed the two dancing. What was first a conversation about how hot she was turned to questioning Bucky about his sexuality, much like she had. At the time, pretty much everyone assumed that Bucky was gay. The topic of discussion quickly beelined to one of sex.

The alcohol made Bucky more relaxed. Cockier than he knew he should be. The longer they all sat around, talking about their best sex stories, the lower Bucky’s inhibitions fell. He started bragging about how much fun sex with another dude was, as if trying to sell the idea of himself to them. Mostly, he was really just trying to pique _Alex’s_ interest. But the alcohol also made _them_ more interested. In the aftermath, they’d use that as their excuse. Like Alex, they were all straight.

Which was funny, because that didn’t stop the door from getting locked shut _again_. After enough suggestive back-and-forth comments and Rollins finally curling his finger – _‘C’mere, Barnes’_ – it didn’t stop anyone from protesting when Bucky eventually crawled into Rollins’s lap. It didn’t stop Rollins from letting Bucky kiss him, or stop him from running his hands over Bucky’s ass just to see if it felt as nice as Bucky insisted it did. The rest of the guys continued drinking, feeding more to Bucky whenever he asked, and egging things on.

It didn’t stop them from all deciding that they wanted a turn.

It was messy after that. None of them put their mouth or hands anywhere near Bucky’s cock (maybe they felt that somehow ‘didn’t make it gay’), but _his_ mouth got quite a workout from being filled with theirs’. He was the only one stripped of all his clothes, while the rest only got as far as lowering their pants. One of them – Bucky can’t remember which – took their shirt off. But that was about it.

He started on his knees, showing everyone how well a guy could suck cock while he demonstrated on Rollins. The rest of the time, he held himself up by his hands and knees on the bed. They used his mouth and took turns with it; called him a dirty skank, and when they’d ask him, _‘You a little whore, Barnes?’_ Bucky would only moan around whoever’s dick was in his mouth and try to nod.

Alex was the only one who fucked him that night; one hand gripping Bucky’s shoulder and the other on his hip while Victor Creed framed Bucky’s head in his hands and thrust into his throat. Bucky obviously didn’t comment that night, but he was glad that Alex was the only one to actually have sex with him. He was the only one Bucky was actually interested in anyway. Like sure, it was super hot at the time – Bucky had actually fantasized about being in that kind of situation before – but really, the other guys Bucky could take or leave.

What he liked was that _Alex_ was letting himself give into it. The fact that three of his other friends were swept up into the exact same frenzy gave him his scapegoat, after all; a reason to participate without having to own up to any of it. Bucky didn’t care what reasoning Alex would have to give himself to sleep at night. It may not have been ideal, but it was better than nothing. Bucky was just happy it was happening at all.

That’s what he told himself for a while, anyway. None of them talked about it after that night. Back at school, life continued as normal. Any time Bucky passed any of them in the halls, they either didn’t really acknowledge each other, or things were brief and friendly as usual. Bucky knew they’d deny it if it ever got out. Luckily for them, Bucky didn’t have a reason to go running his mouth about it in the first place. None of them had to say a thing for Bucky to know it was a one-time thing – a secret – they’d all take to their graves.

Natasha never even found out at first. Neither did Clint. Bucky didn’t tell any of them about it. It helped that none of them went to that particular party, otherwise it might’ve been a lot harder to hide. At first, everything that happened was justified in Bucky’s head, and he told himself that was why he didn’t even confide in Natasha about it. There’d been nothing wrong; they’d all known what they were doing, they’d all consented – yeah, they’d also all been drinking, but still.

Then the days kept passing. A week went by, then two. Then a month. And the longer Bucky had to think about it, the more uncomfortable he became. Mostly with himself, of what he’d done. Casual, no strings attached sex wasn’t foreign to him, but what happened at Rumlow’s party felt different somehow. Rather than leaving him feeling good about himself, the more he found himself actually feeling _embarrassed._ The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he actually hadn’t _really_ wanted to fuck around with any of them.

Only Alex. That was the only person Bucky wanted, and yet he’d been willing to sacrifice his own body to people he hardly knew just to get that. Bucky had already paid a visit to one of the STD clinics in the area that offered free testing to anyone under nineteen, and they’d left a voicemail on his cell (he’d specifically given them that number and _only_ that number to contact with the results) while he’d been in class. Bucky already knew he hadn’t caught anything.

That was a relief, but it didn’t fix the problem. Bucky had never had a sexual experience leave him feeling so unfulfilled inside. Almost… _worthless._ Ashamed of himself. He didn’t give a shit that people assumed he was an easy lay. Bucky could own up to that without batting an eye. Just because he liked sex and was prone to having it a lot didn’t mean jack shit, especially when it wasn’t ever hurting anybody.

But suddenly… someone _had_ gotten hurt. Every time the night would replay itself in Bucky’s head, the more honest he had to be with himself. He’d done it for all the wrong reasons. His consent had been so dubious that even _he’d_ left himself fooled in the heat of the moment. For the first time, Bucky felt remorse for his actions. Wished he could take them back.

For the first time, remembering the way they called him ‘dirty’ and ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ twisted his stomach with a sick sort of feeling. That kind of thing was usually a turn on for Bucky; one of his kinks. But usually that sort of thing was only said during sex to _be_ a turn on. That was the point: there was never legitimate weight behind the words. They were terms of endearment rather than an insult. The person saying them didn’t actually believe Bucky was those things, not for real.

It was different when he realized he couldn’t be sure whether or not Alex and his friends actually _meant_ it.

But that night also changed something in Alex, too, and that only made things even more complicated. Suddenly he was texting Bucky more. Wanting to get together. Always just the two of them, always in secret.

Bucky always noticed the faint waft of alcohol on Alex’s breath whenever they got together, even if he was driving. Most of the time, he’d bring some for Bucky, too. They’d sip away, making weightless small talk while they gave it the time to fill their bellies, bubble up in their blood; fuel the embers until they always turned to their usual flames. He didn’t ever say anything, but Bucky didn’t like that Alex felt he had to drink to be able to put his hands on Bucky’s body.

It didn’t matter, though, because Alex would say all the right things: that even though he was still straight, he liked Bucky. That it didn’t matter if he was still with his girlfriend, because that wasn’t the same; he didn’t feel about her the way he did for Bucky. He’d break up with her and be with Bucky if he could, he’d say. He would – he really would – but he just couldn’t, he’d say.

But he _wished_ he could, he’d say.

Alex told Bucky that he didn’t like that his friends got to touch Bucky the same way he did. There was a sense of self-entitlement there that Bucky only ever interpreted as possessiveness, as actual _feelings_. That Alex wanted him all to himself made Bucky feel special, and Alex only seemed to reaffirm that by _telling_ Bucky how special he was. So special, in fact, that he’d risk his reputation in general, just by choosing to meet up with him at all.

Because even though they never got caught, they _could_. That was supposed to prove Alex’s feelings, like some sort of grand romantic gesture. For Bucky, it all worked. Everything Alex told him was meant to press all the right buttons. He targeted Bucky’s desire for Alex to return his feelings by making it seem like he really did. He utilized the fact that Bucky had lived through his own traumatic coming-out experience by making excuses that pandered to Bucky’s sense of empathy.

That way Bucky would never push for things to become _more._ He’d never dream of outing Alex to begin with. That wasn’t his place, there was never any justification to do that to someone, and all of Alex’s reasoning made sense, even if Bucky wished things could be different. And Alex _knew_ that was how Bucky felt. He relied on it.

So that helped mull things over for Bucky; placate him for a little while longer. The more Alex told him all the things he wanted to hear, the less discomfort and guilt he had regarding that night at Rumlow’s party. Because it resulted in Alex _finally_ being in a place where he could say all those sweet things. It didn’t matter that no one else could know. Hearing them, at the time, was enough. _Bucky_ knew how Alex felt. That was all that mattered. So how could Bucky regret the actions that’d brought them together?

For the first time, he had actual feelings for someone. Romantic feelings. It wasn’t love, but it still seemed intense. Bucky often daydreamed about the day where Alex would finally be ready to give himself the freedom he deserved; not feel he had to hide anymore and announce to the world, _this is me. This is who I really am._

It broke his heart that Alex faced that battle each and every day, where he couldn’t even admit to himself that he was living a lie. Because it wasn’t just that he was playing a charade to the _world;_ each and every time he reminded Bucky that he was straight, Bucky could see just how hard he’d worked all his life to convince _himself_ of that. He truly seemed to believe it; so set in his ways, the prejudices instilled in him by his father, that he could admit to the way Bucky made him feel while simultaneously refusing to admit to _why_.

But Bucky held on. Alex gave him reason to believe that they actually had something between them. That maybe, if Bucky waited long enough – didn’t pressure him, didn’t get impatient or ask questions – Alex would _want_ to finally be with him for real. Bucky could do that for him.

Or at least, he _thought_ he could. The school year came to an end, and summer began. Bucky spent it with his friends, working his first part-time job, and practicing for a driver’s license of his own. On the side, all summer, he’d continue to get together with Alex. They never went to Alex’s house. Never at Bucky’s. Usually they’d go for a drive in Alex’s car, drive to someplace secluded and dark, and do their thing.

Bucky was finally with someone that made him want something more than just sex. But sex was the only thing they actually did. It always followed the same pattern: they’d go days without talking at all, Alex would text him out of nowhere, and Bucky always knew what that meant. He’d pick Bucky up and they’d go for a ride. Find a place, park there. Drink, maybe a little, maybe more. There’d be the minimum amount of talking – just enough for Alex to perform his usual magic trick and bewitch Bucky all over again.

Then Bucky would blow him. Alex never put his mouth anywhere below the belt back then. Only sometimes would he give Bucky a handjob. They’d fuck, with Bucky straddling Alex in the back seat, or bent over the hood of his car, or up against a tree, or with the pavement beneath his hands and knees... There was even a time where Alex sat Bucky on top of a _garbage can_ in a back alley and fucked him that way; legs wrapped around his waist and a dirty lid beneath Bucky’s tailbone.    

Bucky was never allowed to kiss him. That was the main rule. Alex loved to put his mouth on Bucky’s neck, his shoulders; he got off on biting him, sucking just long enough to leave a mark. But he wouldn’t even so much as press his lips to Bucky’s _jaw._ Anything from the neck up was strictly off limits, going both ways.

Once, he tried to ask Alex why he couldn’t kiss him. As soon as the question slipped past his lips, Bucky regretted asking. Something about Alex’s face turned darker – an expression that Bucky didn’t like, as if there was a certain maliciousness hovering around them that might’ve always been there, but Bucky had never seen before.

Just like that, Alex shut down; his smile, gone. The affectionate tenderness in his tone – for _Bucky_ – vanished. “I just don’t like it,” was the monotonous answer Bucky got. Bucky didn’t want to upset him. Didn’t want to fuck things up after he’d only just finally managed to get Alex. He was desperate to undo his mistake, so he pretended that was okay, and he couldn’t remember a time where he’d ever apologized so quickly.

That was the formula: meet up, drive somewhere, fuck, and be dropped off back at home whenever Alex got too tired for another round. He never texted Bucky aside from that. When Bucky would try shooting _him_ a message, most of the time he didn’t reply. If he did, it was usually because he was alone and felt in the mood for some sexting.

But Alex remained devious: made sure he still said enough of the right things to Bucky, just enough times that Bucky continued to think he had a reason to stick around. For the first time in almost a year, Bucky stopped sleeping with other people. Alex never asked that of him – after all, he was still messing around with his girlfriend – but he didn’t have to.

Bucky just didn’t have the desire to sleep around anymore. While they weren’t technically ‘together’, it sure as hell still felt like it somehow. He _could’ve_ continued to get his rocks off with other people; hell, if nothing else, maybe it would’ve been nice to have a sure thing on the side who at least _kissed_ Bucky once in a while. But they weren’t Alex, and Bucky didn’t want anyone _but_ him.

He wanted Alex to touch him like he cared as much as he always said he did. He wanted to be able to hold his hand and see how well their fingerprints went together. He wanted Alex to look him in the eye when he was inside him, instead of keeping them closed or focusing them anywhere but on Bucky. Bucky wanted Alex to _want_ to kiss him, and he wanted Alex to eventually _want_ to be with him for real.

Because Alex always did such a bang-up job of making Bucky believe the feeling was mutual, even given the messed up circumstances, it gave Bucky that scrap of hope to hold onto with tight hands. It allowed his stubborn mind to still believe that _one day_ , that might happen. He couldn’t let go when Alex was constantly giving him reason to think it was best for him to hold on.

But the summer continued on, and absolutely nothing changed. Eventually, by about halfway into July, those rose-colored glasses Bucky was wearing started to crack. Hanging out with Alex gradually began to take that same toll on him as that night as Rumlow’s had: while it _seemed_ like a good idea while it was happening, and in the moment Bucky _did_ enjoy it, it only carved out his heart and withheld it from him when he would walk away.

Every single time Bucky would get together with him, he’d spend that whole night lying in bed and wondering why he still felt so worthless, even with Alex telling him that he was worth the world.

It wore away at him, even started to change him. The longer they were hooking up, the less sure Bucky was that Alex was telling him the truth. As much as he wanted to ignore it, something about what they were doing just didn’t seem right anymore. Slowly, Bucky’s smile was reduced to something less and less authentic. He slept in later, was always tired all the time anyways, and grew agitated at the simplest of things.

His friends noticed, but Bucky found excuses of his own to account for his behavior; put more effort into trying to mask the pain he was only feeling more with every passing day. Because his friends trusted Bucky to be honest with them, they bought his lies.

Everyone but Natasha. When Bucky couldn’t fight it – couldn’t go at it alone anymore – and realized he _did_ need someone to talk to about what was happening, he went to her. Only after making her promise that everything he was about to tell her absolutely _had_ to remain in confidence, everything came spilling out. Even what he’d done at the party.

It was more than clear that what he was divulging to her was making her upset, but never once did she interrupt him; didn’t change the focus and try to make it about her. The entire time, she remained silent, only speaking if she was prompting Bucky to go on or asking questions pertaining to _him._ She let him rant, and she let him vent. Sometimes he was fine. Others, he became frustrated and would find himself shouting. A few times, he’d go silent for minutes on end.

By the time he finished, he was sitting on her bedroom floor, and he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to smash something apart with his fists, start laughing hysterically, or curl up into a ball and cry. With her mouth twisted up into an unsteady frown, Natasha scooched over closer, and Bucky wasn’t even sure he was prepared for what she was about to say.

Instead, Natasha – knowing Bucky Barnes best – chose to say nothing at all. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him to her, with Bucky’s head resting on her shoulder. Letting silence say it all, they stayed that way for almost an hour before another word was spoken.

It would be nice if Bucky could say that that night changed everything for the better. That Natasha helped open his eyes to the fact that Alex was clearly using him; that the very next day, Bucky kicked him to the curb.

Yeah, it’d be nice to say that. But sadly, there was more.

Because even though Bucky was slowly but surely wising up to the reality of what was going on, he still continued to give Alex the benefit of the doubt; made more excuses for him, even though a part of him hated to do it. Bucky couldn’t let go of that ray of light in the distance – his desperation to believe that he hadn’t been played all that time. Even with how much he was beginning to dislike Alex, Bucky still _liked_ him, too… and he couldn’t bear the thought that Alex didn’t actually like him _back_.

Natasha didn’t approve. Obviously. She would’ve been a pretty shitty friend if she had. Though ultimately, she told Bucky it was his decision to make – _‘No one can do that but you, Yasha’_ – she also told him exactly what she thought. Just because Bucky was the only one who could choose to put a stop to it didn’t mean she couldn’t still try her hardest to make Bucky understand that he _had_ to get out of it before it got worse.

She was always blunt, and he knew he had to expect as much. Still, hearing someone actually say to him: “He’s a liar! He has absolutely no intention of beingwith you – and I don’t think he ever _did_ …” That fucking hurt. She wasn’t saying it to be cruel, that he knew. If anything, looking back on it, Bucky knows it was something he had to hear. A part of him even grasped that fact at the time, too. But still, he fought it.

At least for another few weeks. Bucky can never be sure what exactly the tipping point was for him. There wasn’t even really a specific catalyst – just that _one_ day, he was still trying to rationalize things in his head, and the _next_ , he suddenly found himself re-examining his life as of late and thinking, _What the fuck am I doing?_ It all hit him like a bag of bricks, and Bucky realized he was very, _very_ fed up.

Everything he’d found a way to make sense of before just didn’t make sense to him anymore. Every excuse Alex had ever fed him, Bucky finally saw for what they were. It was like he’d discovered the switch on the wall and finally mustered up the courage to flip it. Just like that, Bucky’s eyes were open and he could admit to himself: he’d been fucking _used._ And he was pissed.

He resorted to the silent treatment at first. Bucky wasn’t sure how to confront Alex, only that he knew he had to but he wasn’t quite ready yet. There was still that gut reaction – that flitter in his heart, that surge of happiness – whenever his phone would buzz with an incoming text, Alex trying to see if Bucky wanted to get together. Hard as it was to resist replying, Bucky stuck to his guns. Every attempt at contact went unanswered.

After two weeks of being ignored, Alex had clearly clued in on the fact that Bucky was upset with him. But instead of approaching the situation like he gave a fuck about Bucky’s feelings, instead he sent Bucky a rather _annoyed_ message on Facebook. Alex played dumb, asking ‘what the fuck he did’ to make Bucky ignore him; that Bucky owed him an explanation, _‘ **What the fuck’s your problem?’**_ , blah, blah, fucking _blah_.

Bucky was ready then, though. So he replied, short and pointedly: _‘ **Not talking about this over fb. You free tonight? Need to meet up.’**_

They did. And that’s when shit hit the fan.

Alex picked Bucky up and the two drove around for a while in a tense silence, trying to find someplace private where they could talk. Once the car was stopped, Bucky was shoving open the door and stomping straight out. Alex followed, and upon demanding to know ‘what the hell’ was wrong with Bucky, Bucky snapped.

Bucky started shouting, pointing at Alex and calling him out on all of his bullshit. He called him a lying piece of shit and a coward; said he knew that Alex never planned to leave his girlfriend or tell anyone about them, but only saw Bucky as a hole to fuck at his convenience. Every word hurt like a bitch, and his eyes shone with hot, furious tears the entire time, but Bucky refused to give in to them enough to let them fall.

The response he got was exactly what he’d been expecting and yet nothing he could’ve been prepared for. Alex was so personally offended that Bucky was the one cutting ties and ending whatever fucked up thing it was they had – like he’d always assumed that was supposed to be only _his_ right, his power – that he didn’t even _try_ to defend himself or continue the charade. He was revealing his true colors for the very first time.

And Bucky realized he’d _never_ really known Alex Pierce. Not at all.

He sneered in Bucky’s face, turning his words back around and hurling them back in his face, mockingly sweet. With a look of pure disgust, he brought up what’d happened at the party and asked Bucky, “You know how many times we’ve laughed about you since then?”

He called Bucky things like _gross_ …and _damaged goods_ …and _faggot_... Told Bucky that no one would even be surprised if word got out that he was pretty much gang-banged at Rumlow’s. He outright _laughed_ at the notion that Bucky actually thought for a second that Alex really liked him.

And every single thing he said beat Bucky down into the ground; made him feel so fucking small and inferior that perhaps with a single gust of wind, he’d be swept up and catapulted away like every other spec of dirt. The blows were so ferocious, filled with so much hatred, that part of Bucky wished that Alex was cutting open his chest and using his bare hands to rip open his ribs, pull out his heart instead.

That would’ve hurt much less.

Bucky felt like he was dying inside – but that was his own cross to bear. He could suffer without relinquishing any more of his power over to this man. He didn’t want Alex to walk away thinking he’d somehow won. So despite whatever chaos was raging away within him, on the outside, Bucky didn’t give so much as an inch.

He held his ground in the face of Alex’s scorn, and when he finally spoke, it was to say: “Y’know, that’s pretty fucking rich that keep calling me a ‘faggot’ when _you’re_ so fucking deep in the closet you’re finding Christmas presents!”

That set Alex off like nothing Bucky had ever seen before. Interpreting Bucky’s remark as some sort of confession that he was planning to out Alex to everyone, that smug smile of his was immediately wiped clean from his face, replaced with outrage. Striding fast, he advanced towards Bucky, snarling, “Is that a fucking _threat_ , Barnes?” For one genuine second, Bucky thought Alex was about to attack him.

He didn’t. Alex could do many, many disgusting things – this, Bucky was suddenly learning very fast – but physical assault didn’t seem to be on the list. That was when Bucky got his very first taste of the kind of fighting Alex Pierce _really_ does.

“Because I’ll tell you something, Barnes,” he’d said, stepping in so close that Bucky could see every tiny pore on his face, “you even _think_ about spreading any lies about me, I’ll make sure you regret it for every goddamn day of the rest of your life.”

Bucky was gritting his teeth, jaw clenched so tight it throbbed. He would sooner get clocked out than be the one to surrender away from their stare-down, but tears still prickled the corners of his eyes. He was ashamed of himself for letting it hurt so bad, but he couldn’t help it.

Just because he was angry didn’t mean there hadn’t been a tiny part of him that’d been secretly hoping Alex would find a way to prove him wrong; deny the accusations Bucky made, fight for Bucky not to walk away… _Something._

While the majority of Bucky couldn’t even be surprised that _this_ was who the guy really was – awful and manipulative and a fucking _user_ – there was still that tiny part that couldn’t comprehend any of what was happening.

“ _Lies?_ Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me!?” he choked out.

“Yes, _lies_ ,” Alex hissed, eyes flashing. “If I find out you’ve been telling people I’m a filthy little fudge-packer like you, mark my fucking words, Barnes, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

And that was when he told Bucky about the supposed video. His perfect blackmail. What Bucky didn’t know, Alex said, was that at Rumlow’s party, when they’d all been holed away in that spare bedroom, one of his buddies had pulled out his phone and recorded the whole thing. This video allegedly starred Bucky in all of his glory – particularly in how eager he’d been to have a cock in every hole he could manage. It had also apparently never been deleted.

“I hear you’ve said even one word about me,” Alex threatened, “and I’ll make sure that shit’s online before the night’s over, you little bitch. Youtube, Facebook, PornHub – you name it, I’ll make sure it’s _all_ over there. And I’ll make sure _everyone_ sees it.”

Alex then turned on his heel, got back into his car, and drove away – leaving Bucky standing there, in the middle of the night and unsure where exactly he even was – before Bucky could say anything about it. The whole thing had been more than enough to make Bucky panic. It took him a few hours of walking around in a daze, not knowing where the fuck he was or where he was going, before he swallowed his pride enough to call Natasha for a ride.

He told her everything that night, speaking a mile a minute. He sobbed into his hands; swore and yelled and eventually beat his fist off the dashboard until she had to pull over and shout at him to stop, grabbing at his wrists and physically restraining him until he calmed down enough to croak out an apology. Bucky was terrified. He’d never been that scared in his life.

Violated. He felt so violated. He already had enough guilt about what he’d done – what they’d _all_ been stupid enough to do – that night. But to know he’d been _taped_ … That those actions were immortalized, at least for the time being… It got him so anxious that Natasha wound up having to pull over _again_ just so Bucky could stick his head out the opened door and puke. He wound up crashing at her place that night because he couldn’t stand the thought of having to go back home and sleep by himself.

Bucky didn’t know what to do for a while. He begged Natasha not to tell anyone. Not his parents, not hers, not their friends, not anyone. She was bound determine to have a word with Alex _herself_ , which damn near made Bucky lose his shit. “You’ll just make it worse – please!” Bucky kept repeating, gripping her arms. “Please, _please_ , just don’t. Please stay out of it!”

Natasha couldn’t stand the state Bucky had been put in, and maybe she took pity on him. Either way, she agreed – only under the condition that she wouldn’t pull anything so long as _Alex_ didn’t. And for a while, Alex didn’t. In fact, Bucky didn’t hear from him at all.

That didn’t help Bucky sleep at night, though, and it didn’t stop him from constantly living like he was suddenly looking over his shoulder all the time. He couldn’t possibly go to sleep at night without first checking as many websites that he could think of, just to make sure he still wasn’t on any of them. If Alex was telling the truth and that video existed, Bucky’s life would’ve been over had it been leaked. One of those things that haunts you, always following behind in your footsteps like a shadow.

Every day, Bucky looped around the same fears, over and over: _His family would hear about it, and even if they knew Bucky was sexually active, that was still something he’d never want any of them to see. Would they be able to see him the same? And his biological parents… Fuck, wherever they were, whatever happens to you after death, Bucky hoped to Christ they couldn’t see him then… What would they think? Would they still be proud of him if they were around?_

_God, oh god, fuck, and what about Rebecca? She’d have that lingering over her, too, no matter where she went. Every school, she’d be the girl with the ‘porn star’ brother. Her own identity would be erased; consumed and relabeled all thanks to Bucky. Would she be embarrassed by him? Would all of them be embarrassed?_

_And everyone at his school, that’d be all they would talk about. And just because they could go fuck themselves if they thought they had a right to judge him wouldn’t make it hurt any less when he became the subject of everyone’s mockery; the world’s biggest punchline to any and every joke anyone made for months to come. And what would happen when the time came to apply to college? Future jobs? He’d be fucked every single time before he was even given a chance…_

That was all that consumed Bucky’s thoughts for weeks. With enough time, he finally made himself crazy with stress. Alone in his room, about two weeks later, it drove himself to his first panic attack. He thought he was having a heart attack. With shaking hands, face paled and heart rake spiking through the roof, he grabbed his phone.

The fear of looking like an idiot stopped him from calling 9-1-1. The fear of having to potentially tell his parents what’d been going on with him lately prevented him from contacting _them_ , who had both gone out with Rebecca earlier in the day.

So, once again, he called the only person he thought could help.

It was difficult to find her name in his contact list because he was fighting tunnel vision. His cheeks were numb, and the only thing Bucky could hear was the frighteningly quick thuds of his heart. When the call got through, his tongue felt heavy, clumsy in his mouth while he trembled and cried and couldn’t breathe and tried to speak. And then Natasha was grabbing the keys and running to her mom’s car within seconds of hearing Bucky’s voice.

At her instruction, she put him on speaker and Bucky stayed on the line with her until she could get there. Bucky didn’t actually talk during that time. Instead he lied belly-down on the bed; face pressed into his pillow and his hands on the back of his head. Wheezing and gasping and choking out sobs and thinking he was about to die at sixteen.

Of course, that didn’t happen. Natasha got there as fast as she could and managed to calm him down. They spent the rest of the afternoon cuddled in his bed and watching TV, with Bucky distracting himself by running his fingers absentmindedly through red hair, while Natasha made sure he kept sipping at the glass of water she grabbed for him.

Bucky remembers how exhausted he’d been that day. It was very similar – even if for different reasons – to how he’d been over this past week: tired right down to his bones, straight up into his brain. Tired everywhere. Feeling hopeless, and petrified, and awaiting the worst to happen, and assuming that worst to be the inevitable.

“I can’t do this anymore, Nat,” he’d eventually whispered, eyes still stuck on the TV. “I can’t spend the rest of my life scared shitless that someday it’s gonna come back to bite me.”

She tilted her chin up to better get a look at the side of his face. Her voice, soft yet firm, floated to his ear: “You have to stand up for yourself, Yasha. If you let him think he has this sort of power over you… You’re right: you’ll never be over it. He has to know he can’t treat you that way.”

Bucky shook his head gently. Didn’t meet her eyes, but did tighten his arm around her, pulling her even closer to his body. He wanted to be able to be that brave. He wanted that more than anything. But he was at Alex’s mercy on this one – one wrong word and he could choose to ruin Bucky’s life. The best thing Bucky could do for himself at that point was comply, no matter how much it ate away at him.

So he had to admit to her, pertinent, “I can’t do that. I’m sorry… I can’t. You just don’t get it.”

“James--”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He finally tipped his face in enough to peer at Natasha from the corner of his eye. Quietly, he added, “Please…”

She hadn’t liked it, but she nodded. With a short _okay,_ she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek, before settling back down with it resting comfortably against Bucky’s shoulder. Her arm was still draped loosely over his stomach and Bucky held his breath, waiting for her to say more. But she hadn’t… so Bucky released that air in his lunges and rested his cheek on the top of her head, the two of them going back to watching TV in silence.

Near the end of August, things became impossibly worse. To Bucky’s horror, Alex wound up sending him a text out of nowhere one night, asking to meet up. Bucky had absolutely no fucking clue what reason Alex would have to want to see him, so of course his mind jumped to the worst places. Whatever it was, it had to be about the video. Maybe he thought Bucky had said something to someone. Either way, he knew he couldn’t say no, so Bucky acquiesced.

That night, right in the front seat of Alex’s car, he tried to come onto Bucky. When Bucky abruptly leaned away and said no, Alex offered him a tiny smile, lifting his hands into the air like he was saying, _I mean you no harm._ To Bucky’s surprise, Alex didn’t seem angry at being rejected; a complete one-eighty from how he’d responded to being shut down less than a month prior. Red flags immediately went up in Bucky’s head, but in the moment, he tried to remain optimistic. Bucky, the poor bastard, still thought he could give Alex the benefit of the doubt.

Alex only made it harder for Bucky not to feel suspicious when he told him in an overtly _nonchalant_ tone, “I won’t force you. If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to do it.”

God, but Bucky knew there was more. If it ended there, that would’ve been too easy. There was no justification for Alex Pierce to miraculously have a complete and total change of heart like that. It _was_ too easy, too good to be true, because Alex then confirmed Bucky’s fears:

“ _However_ … There’s still the matter of that little video… They wanted to put it up, you know. I told them not to. I’ve been the only thing stopping them from posting it, but… I dunno. Now I might be starting to think that trying to _help_ you was the wrong idea. Hmm.”

He’d shrugged, expression so calm and carefree about the matter that Bucky’s throat was tightening with bile. Alex slowly reached back out for him, rubbing at the back of Bucky’s head with a deceivingly delicate touch. The corner of his mouth quirking up in victory, he looked straight at Bucky and said, “Change my mind, beautiful. Nothing you haven’t done a million times before…”

His thumb traced the swell of Bucky’s bottom lip, and Bucky remembered that he would do anything to stop that video from seeing the light of day. He’d do whatever he needed to. So those lips parted, and he pushed down everything in him that protested, as he let the tip of his tongue brush against Alex’s thumb. Gave it a ginger suck rather than a sharp bite.

He wet his lips and undid his seat belt, and he relaxed his throat when Alex pulled out his dick and Bucky took it into his mouth, all the way down. He sucked him off, and he hated the way Alex gripped his hair, and he hated the way his come tasted when he finally busted in the back of Bucky’s throat, and he hated _Alex_ , and he hated the fact that his own cock was so fucking hard by the time it was over.

That only happened one other time – Alex extorting Bucky into giving him head by using the threat of the video against him. By then, junior year had already started; summer gone, now well into fall. Bucky had hoped it was somehow behind him because it hadn’t been brought up since, and if Bucky passed Alex at school, he treated Bucky with that same casual politeness he always had. Just when Bucky thought he could finally start breathing a sigh of relief, Alex struck a second time.

It was a random Friday in October, and against his better judgement, Bucky accepted the offer to meet back up with him. He wanted to be surprised when it resulted in Bucky on his knees behind some seedy take-out joint, wincing at the press of gravel beneath his kneecaps while Alex fucked his throat raw. He wanted to be, but he couldn’t.

That second time had been enough to bring back everything that’d been tearing Bucky apart before, hitting him with a whole new vehemence. He couldn’t handle it anymore – he couldn’t handle the duress of being blackmailed, he couldn’t handle the ever-lingering threat of that video, he couldn’t handle feeling like he had no choice but to be the equivalent of Alex’s sex slave, and he couldn’t handle the fact that – for a second time – Bucky had gotten hard off of it. Not knowing what else he was supposed to do, he caved and told Natasha.

She was so incensed that Bucky didn’t even _try_ fighting her on it when she whipped out her phone and informed him – with no room to argue anyways – that she was calling Clint. Bucky knew she couldn’t sit idly by on the sidelines anymore while her best friend was being abused. He always knew that if he kept going to her about it, there’d eventually come a point where he wouldn’t be able to _expect_ her to sit back quietly and watch it keep happening.

Yet all the same, knowing that moment had finally arrived – that there would be no stopping her from stepping in and getting involved – left Bucky terrified. He didn’t know what she could be capable of, but when it came to protecting her friends, protecting _him,_ there was little he’d put past her. And yet… all the same, he was also secretly _relieved_ at the prospect that all of that shit might actually stop for good. Finally.

Clint was the only other person in their group to find out what’d happened. When he got to Bucky’s, there was a lot to fill him in on, so there was even more for him to process than there’d been for Natasha. They came to the exact same conclusion, though: that Alex couldn’t get away with what he was doing and that they were going to find a way to make that message _very_ clear.

Bucky tried to remind them how fucked he’d be if they provoked Alex into posting the video, same as he reminded them that what was going on was something _no one else_ could ever know about. At that, Natasha and Clint had shared a look, like they were putting together their plan without having to say anything at all. That was the first time Bucky noticed – and feared – how perfect of a team those two could be together.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint then said, glancing back to Bucky, a note of finality in his tone.

Natasha confirmed, just as seriously, “We’ll take care of it.”

Their methods were unorthodox, and perhaps extreme, but they _worked_. Clint set everything up. Natasha executed it. Bucky wasn’t there to see the result – though a part of him will always _desperately_ wish he was – and he only found out what happened _after_ the fact. But the short and short of it was: Natasha beat the ever-loving shit out of Alex.

Bucky’s always found the slightly more extended version to be far more satisfying, though: Clint – having at least a _bit_ of a standing with Alex through mutual friends – contacted him on Facebook, asking if Alex had any weed he’d be willing to sell him. It was the perfect setup, providing an excuse for Alex to agree to meet somewhere secluded and not think anything of it, since he often met with all sorts of people in their class to sell them some shit. They agreed on a time and place.

Now, Clint _went_ , but he didn’t even bother interacting with Alex. At that point, it was Natasha’s turn. Clint was only there to stand guard and keep watch, so if he spotted anyone coming near, he could give her a head’s up. Natasha kept it incredibly short but sweet: she strode straight for Alex, and according to what Clint picked up, heard her asking conversationally, “You thought you’d threaten him and we wouldn’t do anything about it?”

And then, without even slowing down, she threw her fist forward and broke his nose. Alex apparently tried to put up a fight – albeit, briefly – but even though he was broad-shouldered and muscular from sports, his fight skills needed major improvement. Unfortunately for him, along with ballet, Natasha had always been very interested in martial arts as a kid. Having been trained in judo until she was thirteen, she was put at a major advantage.

She nailed him once more in the face before swiftly swinging her right leg up and kicking him square in the balls. ( _‘Much as I would’ve loved to, I wasn’t aiming to kill the guy_ , _’_ she later told Bucky when relaying the details.) Alex hunched forward, keeling over and dropping like a sack of potatoes; face busted up and only getting redder as he coughed and groaned in pain. Natasha warned him never to speak to Bucky again before walking away, leaving him much like he had left Bucky stranded all those nights ago.

Alex’s pride was of a much higher priority to him than his sense of vengeance. Thanks to all that male bravado and internalized misogyny of his, he would sooner give in and do what Natasha said than admit to anyone that he’d been beaten up by a girl. So when Monday morning rolled around and he showed up at school with two black eyes and a cast on his nose, he was well equipped with a made-up story.

There were plenty of whispers about it, and no shortage of those who straight up _asked_ him what happened, but all Alex would say was that he’d been throwing around his football with Rumlow and accidentally got pegged right in the nose. That was when Bucky assumed that Rumlow had to at least know _something_ , because he backed up the lie as if he’d had a hand in creating it. Either that, or Alex lied to him about how he actually got it, too. Bucky didn’t care what the specifics were, so he didn’t ask.

What mattered was that after that, Alex stopped contacting him altogether. He wouldn’t even look at Bucky in the halls. The made-up video was never brought up again. For the first time in a while, Bucky could sleep easy at night.

On his end, he promised Clint and Natasha that he’d never go near Alex again so long as he could help it. He was already over it anyways, he assured them; he didn’t like Alex anymore. Maybe in hindsight, he’d been fabricating his feelings just a little – but still, when he said that, he was at least well on his way to truly believing it.

Not even a month later, Bucky – inadvertently – learned just how much Rumlow actually knew. Bucky had been in the library, sitting at one of the desks and perusing some books to figure out which ones he’d wind up checking out to help with his assignment. Rumlow happened upon him by chance, which led to some casual conversation. It didn’t last long, but when Rumlow turned to leave, something made him take pause. After a short beat, he was suddenly turning back around and approaching Bucky’s side.

“There was never any video, you know,” Rumlow whispered. He’d been facing Bucky, but his eyes were also darting about the room around them in a way that made it clear he didn’t want anyone else to hear their exchange.

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard, looking up at Rumlow with a confused frown. “What?”

Rumlow bounced quickly off the balls of his feet. Glancing around quickly, he repeated, “There wasn’t any video.” Even more hushed, he leaned closer and added, “C’mon Barnes, you really think they’d put something like that up with _them_ on it, too? Think about it. They were just kidding around, trying to freak you out. Just… in case you wanted to know.”

And without another word, he took off, leaving Bucky to sit there and let the weight of that sink in. First he was overcome with relief, but it was short-lived. Within minutes, it was replaced with outrage. The longer Bucky thought about it, the more Bucky couldn’t believe that someone could ever be so sick as to make something like that up in the first place – not even just for leverage, but at _all._

Bucky never talked about it with Rumlow again. He would never be sure _why_ Rumlow went out of his way to go behind Alex’s back. Alex would’ve never wanted Bucky to know that little secret, and clearly Rumlow had been hesitant about telling Bucky in the first place. Maybe it was because he and Bucky had always been cool with each other. Maybe the moral bone in his body – questionable as it could be sometimes – knew what Alex had been putting Bucky through, and even he couldn’t deny how wrong it’d been.

In the same breath, it could’ve also been for personal reasons, too. Maybe he only told Bucky to try and save his friend’s ass from another potential beating – like Rumlow really _did_ know what truly happened to him. Maybe he told Bucky in the hopes that Bucky would just happen to pass the message onto Natasha, to try and ensure that all that shit was behind _Alex_ for good, too. Like a fucked up sort of surrender Rumlow was making on his behalf because Alex was too arrogant to make it for himself: _He was just talking shit; he won’t actually do anything, so you don’t have to beat him up again, okay?_

Bucky did tell her, for the record. And Clint. It’s not like it changed anything, since the three of them had already put that behind them already. All Natasha said to it was, “Good.” All the more reason to believe Alex would stay in his designated lane and not try to start shit again. All the more reason for Natasha not to have to get involved again, so long as it stayed that way.

With time, Bucky really did get over his affections for Alex. The more distance time placed between them – with every day that turned to a week, each week into a month – the more all of those previously positive feelings were replaced with something ugly. It wasn’t that Bucky was holding a grudge or couldn’t let go of the past. He was beyond that.

On the contrary, it was more a matter of Bucky _finally_ seeing Alex for what he truly was. There was no romanticizing it anymore; once Bucky was over him, all he had left was disdain. Alex disgusted him. And suddenly, the way everyone else was still just as blinded by the picture-perfect façade Alex adorned to the world had never been more apparent. _Poor fools_. At least Bucky had learned his lesson.

Or… sort of.

* * *

There’s silence on the other end of the line. Steve’s breathing is shaky, and it has been for most of the time Bucky’s been talking over the last ten minutes or so. Keeping true to his promise, he hasn’t interrupted once. But Bucky can only guess how much he wants to say. He can’t imagine what Steve is thinking. He isn’t sure he wants to. 

Every sentence, every inch he falls deeper into that rabbit hole confession, Bucky wants to abruptly stop and say _fuck it_ to the rest. But he knows he has to keep going. As hard as it is, he’s got to.

Steve interprets Bucky’s pause as an invitation to finally speak. “Buck…” His tone is strange; angry yet remorseful. It throws Bucky off, in a way that both frightens and confuses him. Still, he’s not ready to hear what Steve has to say. Not when he isn’t finished. “I--”

“I’m not done yet,” Bucky interrupts, wishing he was. “Please, I’m… Not yet. I’m…” He sighs. “There’s still more.”

Another small silence. Steve lets out a sigh. It sounds wet. “Okay,” he whispers.

Bucky closes his eyes, mouth all twisted up. Shaking his head to himself, he lifts his free hand and rubs at his forehead. “I… I don’t even know what I was thinking,” he admits, thinking back again. “Things got good again, and… I was right back to where I was before any of that shit started. I didn’t want a relationship, and it felt… _better_ , not having those sorts of feelings for someone anymore.

“Sometimes, they felt so intense – maybe ‘cause I wasn’t used to ‘em, I dunno… But as great as I thought they were, sometimes they made me feel like I was drowning. Or… suffocating, I guess. Maybe that’s a better way to put it. So when it was over, I felt _free_ again. I – I could do whatever I wanted with whoever I felt like, and shit didn’t have to get messy.”

Bucky swallows. “I need you to understand what I’m saying here, Steve, I… I slept with a _lot_ of people. Most, I – I remember their names. A few, I don’t. That sort of thing. I always used protection, and I would get tested every few months to know I was still clean. After what happened with Alex, though… I…” He shakes his head again. “…I just… cared _less_. I didn’t give a shit about boundaries.

“I was that guy who fucked around with people I knew had a boyfriend, or _girlfriend_ , or _whatever_. I didn’t care who my actions might’ve hurt,” he says, disappointed in himself. “Sometimes, knowing that were taken was even a turn-on for me. Like, it wasn’t like everyone I was screwin’ around with was like cheating with me… Just _some_ of them.

“But I didn’t care, not even a little bit. Relationships just seemed like… like such bullshit to me. I didn’t care about them before, but it was like after Alex… it was like I suddenly _hated_ them. I don’t think I even really realized that until right now…

“And then a few months later, a bit before summer, I…” Bucky makes a weak noise, aborting the sentence. Because he’s scared, and he doesn’t know how Steve will take it – and because this is the part Bucky hates the most. “I love you,” he surprises himself by saying.

Steve seems equally as surprised. “I… Can I talk to tell you I love you, too?”

Bucky nods, gripping the phone in his hand even tighter. “Yes. Please.”

“I love you too, Bucky…”

Bucky doesn’t reply for a few seconds. _Deep breath in, then out…_ “I started fucking Alex again,” he then finishes in a rush, knowing if he loses the nerve again, he won’t get it back. There’s an abrupt inhale on the other line, and Bucky knows Steve’s about to start talking. So he knows he has to keep going before that can happen:

“I knew it was a bad idea, I knew it was,” he says. “It wasn’t even like I liked him again or anything either – actually, I still fucking hated him. It didn’t even happen that many times, or even often, but… I… I dunno. I wasn’t emotionally invested anymore, so it all it was was sex. I don’t know why I did it, but… the point is, it happened.”

That’s not quite true. But this is one of those things Bucky knows Steve doesn’t need to hear. He can tell the truth – just as he has been – without forcing Steve to listen to all the details he really doesn’t have to know. The ones that don’t matter, don’t change the outcome, and would only hurt him to picture.

The truth is, Bucky _does_ know why he did it, same as he always knew why Alex went back. They couldn’t stand each other, they both despised the other; only connected at that point by two things, one of which was the animosity shared between them. Yes, all of that was true. Yes, Bucky was still just as grossed out by him as a person. None of that magically went away whenever they fucked.

Their reasoning was different, but still, they _wanted._ A mutual physical attraction and kink for doing what they weren’t supposed to – _that_ was the second thing that kept them bound together for a while. Bucky was Alex’s worst addiction. Alex, Bucky’s guilty pleasure. What started as a sporadic hook up in a bathroom at a party reignited their old routine. Only this time, things were a little different.

For starters, Bucky’s mindset had changed. There were no more delusional fantasies or childish feelings. Alex still didn’t like to kiss, but lucky for him, Bucky didn’t want that anymore, either. The idea of kissing Alex actually repulsed Bucky, even when his mouth was salivating and he’d be dropping to his knees, undoing Alex’s pants with quick fingers and a hungry look on his face. The last time, Bucky wanted more while Alex wanted nothing beyond the physical. This time, they were on equal ground, with the exact same basal expectations.

The only one being: to get off.

It also made their arrangement much easier to tolerate. Bucky was doing things differently now. Alex was just one of many people he was hooking up with. He didn’t want to kiss Bucky? _Fine_ , Bucky had plenty of other people who’d be more than willing to do that. _Alex’s loss._ This time, Alex was given no special treatment – no pedestal – and when they didn’t talk for months on end in-between, Bucky never even gave him a second thought.

But the moment he’d his phone would buzz and light up with that telltale text… there was never any second thoughts given there either.

That was the only area where _something_ was still kind of the same. Bucky hated it as much as he loved it. He knew he was doing exactly what he shouldn’t have been; fucking around with the one person he promised his best friends he wouldn’t. Fucking Alex gave him something different, something that seemed a little more primal than what Bucky got with everyone else he fooled around with.

But just like it’d always been between them, for as good as that felt when it was happening, Bucky always walked away sensing that there was something _off_ about it, almost lacking. As if the way Alex made Bucky feel when he was dominating his body had the potential to be something greater, something actually _positive_ and _comforting_ _–_ but couldn’t be because they weren’t doing it right… Whatever ‘it’ was.

So whenever it was over, he’d leave and tell himself, _this time he’d smarten up for good. That would be the last time he fucked Alex Pierce._ All that ever did was lead them straight into the same song and dance, each and every time: Alex would want to meet up, and Bucky would know it was a shitty idea but go anyways. He would tell himself he wasn’t going to let Alex seduce him again, so when Alex tried to come onto him, Bucky would ‘turn him down’.

In reality, the majority of Bucky was already on board from the second he set his eyes on him – he was just playing hard to get. Because all it ever took was one look, knowing where it would head, to evoke the same reaction out of Bucky: part of him wanted to knock Alex out himself… but the rest of him just wanted to ride Alex stupid.

So they’d go through the motions, stick to their usual script until Bucky would crack, and then it was game over. Bucky was only ever too quick to get to the real fun once he stopped playing coy. They’d fuck around – maybe for ten minutes, maybe for three hours. Depended on where they were, how much time they had, and what they could get away with. Then they’d part shortly afterwards, and Bucky would be right back to square one: scolding himself for being so reckless. Rationalizing it in his head by promising himself it wouldn’t happen again.

He knew the entire time that what he was doing was wrong. It was idiotic. It was sticking Bucky right back into the lion’s den. Natasha and Clint would kill him if they found out, he knew that; they would be so fucking mad, he knew that too. There was a perfectly valid reason why Bucky wasn’t allowed to go near Alex anymore. But god, if that didn’t make him ache for it _more_. It was deceptive, and sneaky, and so fucked up…

And part of Bucky reveled in that. Breaking the rules and being bad. Being told he couldn’t have something and making it his anyway.

The sex was always so fucking good, too. God knows that only weakened his resolve. Alex long since knew Bucky’s body by then; how he could give it what it liked. It was always rough. Competitive. They’d rip each other’s clothes off with the same fierceness in their eyes, the same scowl on their faces. They’d use their strength to shove the other around; make sure both of them would feel it afterwards.

Bucky would rake his nails down Alex’s back… Alex’s right hand taught Bucky how much he loved to be spanked while the left kept yanking on his hair... They’d bite, suck, lick, bruise… Alex would boss him around, and abuse his little hole until Bucky was drooling.

One time, in retaliation, Bucky got even by pushing Alex onto the hood of his own car so Bucky could throw Alex’s legs over his shoulders, snarling at him to _shut the fuck up_. Glaring, spit running down his chin, he ate Alex out mercilessly, just so he could prove that no matter how much Alex wanted to fight it, he fucking _liked_ getting fucked by Bucky’s tongue.

And he did… Body writhing on the hood, and Bucky’s name begrudgingly coming out of his lungs in barely-there groans, Alex panted through clenched teeth and had precome shining all over his stomach and he fucking _liked_ it.

For two years, once in a blue moon, they would meet up every few months so they could hate-fuck and get it all out of their system. Bucky still didn’t care that Alex had a girlfriend. All he cared about what his orgasm. They’d pant and curse each other; hurling insults and goading words meant to spur the other on. Bucky could go from glaring at him and spitting out, “ _Fuck_ you,” to sobbing out a whine – high and hot – the very next second, breathlessly begging Alex for more.

As for Alex… He could sneer at Bucky and call him all sorts of filthy, hurtful names that he _really_ meant, but he still found himself wanting more and more out of Bucky. He wouldn’t say it, but he loved Bucky’s cock. Was always fixated with touching it, and eventually, getting a taste for it. Alex, as it turned out, was a quick learner with a _very_ skilled mouth on him.

Both of them thought they were better than each other, and neither Bucky nor Alex would admit how much the other turned them on. No matter how wrecked Bucky got, no matter how loudly Alex would make him cry out, there was always an air of defiance to him. Bucky gave it up, and he liked it, but there was still spite – every hitch in his breath, every arch of his back, every spasm his muscles gave around Alex’s cock, all Bucky’s way of reminding him: _you still want me, you can fight it all you want but you keep coming back, too. You want me, you want me, you fucking want me, but you’ll never have me like you did before._

And no matter how vulnerable Alex always sounded whenever he’d bury his face against Bucky’s neck, moan uncontrollably into his skin… No matter how much he loved the feeling of slipping into another man, Alex always fucked Bucky like he was trying to prove that he _didn’t._ They were both determined to beat each other by way of taking each other apart. It made for a great competition while it lasted, no matter how unethical the whole thing was.

But it _did_ eventually come to an end, and that’s the point Bucky wants to stress the most.

“But then you came into my life,” he says, wobbly, fighting back a fresh wave of tears, “and you – you changed everything for me. I love you, Steve. I love you. I swear to you, I swear to god, nothing’s happened since we’ve been together. That whole shit with Alex? That was already over by the time you and me… It was _done_. I need you to believe me.

“I just – I don’t know if he’s gonna turn around and try to start shit again, and if you heard any of this _not_ from me, I…” Bucky whimpers deep in his throat, bottom lip quivering as he covers his face with his hand; curls his fingers and grips tightly to the roots of his hair. He knows he told Steve to stay quiet until he finished, but now that he’s put everything on the table, the silence is only increasing his paranoia.

He starts speaking faster, frantic and going for broke: “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I never told you any of this. I just wanted it behind me, and it had nothing to do with you so I didn’t… I didn’t want you to see me differently. Because – because _listen_ , okay? Please, I – fuck, I don’t… I got no clue what you’re thinking right now, or if you’re mad, or if you’re disgusted, or what.

“And it’s not like I’m – I mean – like, I’m never gonna feel bad that I used to have sex. He tried to make me feel like shit about that, but I never did and I never _will,_ I – the only thing I regret is what I did with _him._ But everything else? I refuse, I won’t apologize for that. That was before you, and I wasn’t doing anything wrong, and – look, I just had to tell you all this. I didn’t want there to be anymore secrets.

“I don’t wanna hide shit from you, I don’t wanna hide _anything._ Even if it means I just went and fucked everything up. Okay? I’m not p-proud of what I did with Alex, but that doesn’t define who I am now. I need you to believe that. And – and I don’t want anyone but you, I’ll _never_ want anyone but you. Just because I’ve been with a lot of people doesn’t mean I’m some sort of whore.

“I’m _not_ a whore, I’m – I’m not some _cumdumpster_! I’m not!” Bucky rants, volume rising, unable to help himself. Now he’s crying. He can’t help that either. “Just because I liked sex doesn’t mean I was s… some sort of monster, Steve! He made me feel like shit, he always did. Then tonight, at prom, he – when I didn’t let it happen again, he… It fucking started all over again, and it still hurt. I didn’t think it’d hurt anymore, but hearing him say all those things, it was…

“But _you,_ youmake me feel… It’s different with you. It’s always been different. You make me feel safe, and – and when I’m with you, I’m free. I’m always able to be myself, and I’m – you make me _happy_ , Steve, you make me so happy I don’t know what to do with it sometimes!And I – I know how this must sound; how could I _possibly_ know for sure that I love you and wanna be with you forever if I’ve never experienced it before, right? Right? But I do, Steve, I fucking do, and if you don’t believe me, fine, don’t believe me!

“But I’m telling you it’s true. I know how I feel, and I know I love you, Steve. And I’m still _me_. I’m still me, Steve, so – so if you suddenly think I’m a slut, and you don’t wanna be with me no more, then that’s you’re decision and I can’t do a fucking thing about it. That’s your choice! I just, I don’t want… I don’t know.”

He wipes at his eyes, heaving a breath that hurts his lungs and still sobbing brokenly against his hand. There are more tears shedding than he can keep up with them. Face red, he tips his head back against the cupboard door and gives up; just lets himself cry. The energy it took to get all of that out, it’s left him completely drained. Whatever fight he might’ve had seeped away with every tear rolling down his cheeks.

The fight felt lost before it’d even been started. That was the mentality Bucky couldn’t help but have. That’s what being with Alex taught him, if nothing else: expect the worst and hope for nothing. That way, the results couldn’t hurt. Couldn’t leave Bucky with a hole in his heart that felt suspiciously like disappointment every. Goddamn. Time.

But it’s impossible not to hope when it comes to Steve, and that’s where Bucky’s always been fucked. With Steve, that’s all he knows: hope for a future, hope for all the possibilities that brings, hope, hope, _hope_. Being with Steve makes Bucky want it all. He can’t lose that. Not when Steve is the one person who’s ever made him feel so alive.

So to be convinced that Steve’s already got one foot out the door and will only run even faster now, well, that’s about the worst pain Bucky’s ever known.

“Bucky,” Steve quietly says, sounding genuinely taken aback, “…is _that_ what you think I’m thinking right now?”

“Aren’t you?” Bucky asks, unable to stop himself from coming off bitter.

There’s a small pause, and Bucky isn’t prepared when Steve answers, “No. I’m – I’m not. Not at all. Buck – my god. _Baby_ …” And that’s when Bucky hears the unmistakable sounds of a _sniffle_ from the other line. Steve’s crying. “Bucky, god, Bucky I’m… I am so fucking sorry. No, _no_ , I could never think that about you. Never.

“I’m just – _fuck_ ,” he croaks, “I feel so powerless right now. I…” He sounds like he’s speaking through gritted teeth. “I _hate_ knowing that someone did that to you. You never should’ve went through any of that, you – Bucky, you’re so brave. You’re the bravest person I know. You know that, right?

Bucky spits out a cold laugh. “Oh yeah, so brave,” he mutters. “Went back to the guy who practically framed me, lied to my friends, screwed up people’s relationships – yeah, that’s real brave.”

“No, you are,” Steve insists. “Look, you think I care who you were with before me? Baby, just because I don’t like to picture it doesn’t mean I’m living in some sort of fantasy world. I never once assumed you were some sort of virgin. You never once owed me _any_ explanations; your sex life before was never any of my business. Whether you slept with five people or five _hundred_ , I’d have no right to judge you for that. No one does, you hear me? You said it yourself: you’ll never feel bad about it. I don’t want you to. _Don’t_ ever apologize, Buck – not to me, not to anyone.”

Bucky can’t believe what he’s hearing. This is exactly how he’d been hoping Steve would react: that he wouldn’t leave, that nothing would be irrevocably changed. But it’s still the complete opposite of what he’d been preparing himself to have happen. The last time he opened his heart and hoped someone would fight for him, it’d been shredded to pieces. Steve is nothing like Alex, but still Bucky expected him to bail. To know he’s not, it’s… Bucky’s just… His heart seems to be swelling, and he finds himself crying _harder_. With an unfiltered relief that nestles into his very bones.

“Steve,” he whimpers.

“I _am_ angry, baby, but I’m not angry at you. God, no, I’m not angry at you, not even a little bit,” Steve tells him. “I’m angry because I want to rip every single fucking limb off Pierce’s body and I _can’t_. I want to _hurt_ him for what he did to you, and that’s – that’s so wrong, I shouldn’t – I’m still an adult. I shouldn’t want to hurt a - a _teenager_ , but I’m sorry, I’m sorry Buck, I do.

“Lord forgive me, I fucking do,” he sighs, quieter, more to himself. Bucky’s never heard this much anger in Steve’s voice before, not even when he’d tried to end things and it’d turned into a shouting match between them. “I think of what he did to you and – I can’t even stand it. I feel… I want to _do_ something about it but I can’t. I can’t, and I fucking hate it.”

“I’m sorry…”

Steve sighs again, anger ebbing away into something sorrowful. “No, please, don’t say sorry. Please don’t. It’s not your fault. It’s not _either_ of our fault, I just – I don’t care about any of that, I really don’t baby, I just need to know you’re alright right _now_.

“Buck… Fuck, I wish I could see your face and actually be looking at you while we were having this discussion. I need to hold you. Bucky, I – I need you in my arms right now. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do. Whatever you need from me, just… Please, anything…”

Bucky sniffles, hating how limited their options always seem to be the second they need each other most. “…Do you wanna FaceTime?”

“Yes,” Steve says, answering immediately. “Only if you can get away with it, though. But yeah, yeah I’d really like that.”

“Everyone’s still downstairs, it’s okay. Hold on.”

He pulls the phone away from his ear, tapping the FaceTime button when the option menu pops up. It rings all of once before Steve answers. He still appears to be in his outfit from earlier, though he’s since removed his jacket. Hair that’d been primly slicked back before now looks slightly disheveled, like there might’ve been an anxious hand running through it. One of Steve’s nervous habits.

Even with the slightly blurry quality, Bucky can see how red-rimmed his boyfriend’s eyes are; how the normally radiant shade of blue is brighter and even more spectacular than normal. They only get that way when he’s been crying. Bucky hates seeing him cry. Even still, he could never be any less gorgeous. So perfect, it will always take Bucky’s breath away, even when he thought he had no more breath to give.

The sight of him pulls up the corners of Bucky’s mouth, a sad smile that reflects in his own eyes. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey,” Steve answers, taking him in in kind. With a small shake of the head, he murmurs, “You’re so beautiful…” When that washes away Bucky’s smile into a frown, Steve looks directly into the camera, a sad sound getting lodged in his throat. “Bucky, you’re beautiful,” he tells him again.

Bucky tries to chuckle. Wiping at his eyes at the same time, he half-heartedly jokes, “Still? You sure?”

“Please stop,” Steve begs. “Please stop saying things like that.”

Bucky’s brows furrow, and slowly he nods. Steve’s right. Bucky got his turn. He anticipated the worst. He didn’t get it. Instead, he got the guy who’s done nothing but prove himself over and over: why Bucky can trust him, why he’ll never leave Bucky behind, why his love for Bucky is unconditional. Bucky convinced himself this would be like Alex Pierce all over again, even if it would’ve made no sense. But Steve Rogers is _not_ like him. Not at all, and he never has been. And now Bucky needs to listen – _really_ listen – to what Steve has to say.

Bucky nods so Steve knows he can continue if he wants to.

“Are you okay from earlier?” Steve starts by asking. “I know I can’t get involved the way I want to, but… is there anything I _can_ do? Do you need me to do something, anything?”

“No,” Bucky answers. “I can handle this. I don’t even think anything’s gonna happen. But… _if_ it does, I just need you to be there. If something happens, please just… don’t listen to any of it. Okay?”

“I never would,” Steve promises.

They stare at each other, falling quiet. Steve offers Bucky another tiny smile, but all that does is make Bucky more aware of just how far apart they are right now. He can see Steve’s face, but he can’t touch him. He can hear Steve’s voice but not feel the heat of the words in his ear. This is one of those times where he really wishes things could be easier. At that, Bucky is reminded of just one more thing that he needs to be honest about.

He chews on his bottom lip, hating in that moment that he remembered at all. But he knows it has to be done, especially after he’s already opened up about everything else. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s… There’s one more thing I have to tell you. I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I know it’s like one thing after another tonight, but--”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s okay, hey, easy… Easy…” He smiles reassuringly. “It’s alright, Buck. What is it?”

Bucky stares at the face on his screen, using whatever strength he has left to scrounge up the nerve for this one last confession. Steve thinks he’s brave. Now’s Bucky chance to prove it to himself. He clears his throat, hesitating before his lips part:

“I… I didn’t know how to tell you, but I… I think I want to go to UCLA in the fall.”

Steve doesn’t stop smiling, but at that, it does become a little doleful. He answers, “I had a feeling.”

_Wait, what?_

Mouth falling open, Bucky stares at his phone – blinking and doing his best impression of a deer caught in headlights – before asking, “You knew?”

“No, I wouldn’t go that far,” Steve says. “Just… I know you. The way you always talk about traveling and stuff? I dunno, you just always seemed to light up a certain way whenever you talked about UCLA; wasn’t the same with NYU.”

Bucky doesn’t get it. If Steve’s had an inkling this whole time, has he stuck around because he’s decided that’s still okay by him? God, Bucky doesn’t want to get his hopes up, he really doesn’t…

“Baby, were you scared to tell me that?” Steve asks with genuine curiosity, maybe even a tiny bit of amusement.

Bucky makes a short, pleading noise. “Well,” he starts, “I – I dunno. Yes? I mean… I didn’t know how you’d take it. Like, asking you to be in a secret _and_ long-distance relationship? Wouldn’t that make me a really shitty boyfriend?”

Steve chuckles, eyes narrowing. “Umm… No?”

“Seriously? You’re really trying to tell me that wouldn’t be too much for you?” Bucky asks, skeptical. How this can be such a non-issue for Steve when it’s been freaking Bucky right the fuck out for the last week?

With a shrug, Steve’s gaze trails away as he shakes his head. On his lips, he still wears that leftover trace of a smile. “I mean, would I be looking forward to barely seeing you? No, of course not. You being so far away _would_ be hard; I’m not saying it wouldn’t be. But you didn’t ‘ask’ me to be in a ‘secret’ relationship with you – I chose to be. _We_ chose, together. You think I’d let a coupla’ miles between us change that? I’d still want to be with you. Why wouldn’t I?”

Somehow, Bucky’s still convinced that Steve’s only on board because he hasn’t properly thought it through. Despite how bad Bucky wants it, he hears himself arguing, “It’s not just a ‘couple of miles’, Steve. We’d be on completely opposite sides of the country.”

“So? It’s not like you’d never be coming back to visit,” Steve points out. “And I’m sure I could fly out there once in a while. We’d still be able to talk on the phone – and hey, actually, we wouldn’t even have to worry about deleting everything anymore, right? That’s always a plus. And…” he chuckles, “…I’ve never quite done the whole ‘Skype sex’ thing, but that’d be an option, too. All I’m saying is, it wouldn’t be easy but I think we could do it.”

When he realizes Bucky’s not smiling back – still at a complete loss for words – his expression grows thoughtful and he asks, gentle, “Baby… You’re serious, aren’t you? You really convinced yourself I’d break up with you over this?”

“Will I sound stupid if I say yes?”

“You could never sound stupid.”

“Then yes,” Bucky admits. Just like when he’d had this exact same conversation with Natasha and Clint, actually saying it out loud and getting this reaction shines so much perspective on things. Bucky might as well have walked into a pitch black room and flipped on the switch; all the answers clearly there, like they’ve been screaming in his face this entire time, except Bucky was too scared to let himself listen. Even though Steve literally just told him he could never sound stupid, Bucky sure does feel like it.

“I just didn’t know how I could ever ask that of you,” he tries to explain. “I know how complicated it already is for us most of the time; I didn’t think it’d be fair for me to suddenly be like, ‘Oh yeah, now let’s just throw a whole country between us!’ You know? You hear shit all the time about how rough long-distance things are. Most of the time, they never seem to work out! I didn’t know if it’d be…”

“You didn’t know if it’d be, what?” Steve tenderly asks. “Worth it to me?” Bucky gives him another weak look but doesn’t answer. So Steve takes pity on him and answers the unspoken question anyway: “You are the single most important thing in my life. Let’s put it this way: nothing _else_ could be more worth it. Okay? I just want you to be where _you_ want to be, no matter where that is.”

“I just feel bad,” Bucky admits. “I want to be there _and_ with you. It doesn’t seem fair that I’m asking for both.” Scoffing under his breath, he mutters, “It doesn’t even seem fair that I want both in the first place.”

Steve replies, “It’s what your heart’s telling you, sweetheart. So I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, okay? You’re gonna listen to it, and then you’re gonna _follow_ it. And everything’s gonna be just fine.”

Bucky regards the face on his screen, uncertain. He tries to sound strong when he asks, “You mean that?” but his voice cracks on the last word.

Steve reassures him with another honey-sweet smile, comforting and honest. “Of course. I think that when two people are meant to be together, they’ll always find their way back to each other one way or another.”

“That’s sort of cheesy.”

“Yeah, but I like it,” Steve replies, shrugging one shoulder. “Plus, I think it’s true.”

It’s starting to sink in… Steve’s one hundred percent serious. He’s been five steps ahead this whole time; thought it through, considered the pros and cons, and is just as committed to making this work as Bucky is. He’s in – he’s not going anywhere and he never plans to. Whatever problems life makes them face, they’ll always figure out a way around them. Together.

 _That’s_ what Steve’s saying.

And that’s when an idea suddenly pops into Bucky’s head. One so brilliant that he can’t believe he never even considered it before.

“Why don’t you move there _with_ me?” he blurts out. Steve’s eyes widen in surprise, so Bucky quickly tries to back pedal. Maybe that was a bit too strong. “I mean, I was just thinking that… Like, there’s nothing really tying you to here, is there? We could find a place, something cheap. Even if we had to put our bed in the living room, I don’t care, I – I’ll get a job, and we could pay rent together. Someplace that’s just _ours_ , Stevie _._ You could always be a teacher out in California, and – and we could actually feel like a real couple out there. Baby, we wouldn’t have to hide no more.”

Genuinely touched – at least, Bucky sure as hell hopes that’s what that look means – Steve smiles, delicate, and asks, “You’d really want me to move out there with you?”

The more Bucky thinks about it, _fuck yeah_ the more he wants it. How had he not thought of this already? It’s such a fucking simple solution! Eagerly, he nods. “Are you kidding me? I’d love to live with you. C’mon Stevie, think about it: it’d be awesome! It’s a perfect idea.”

He’s expecting Steve’s expression to match the excitement of his own. But Steve only continues to stare back with the same steady, warm smile. Warm but regretful. _Oh no._ Bucky starts to frown. “What, what’s wrong?”

Now there’s guilt in that smile, too – _oh no, no, no--_ “Baby, you know I would love that more than anything,” Steve starts to say. And just like that, Bucky’s heart sinks.

His shoulders sag. “So that’s a no,” he mumbles, hurt.

“Just listen to me for a second, Buck,” says Steve, still just as patient. “I would _love_ to live with you. And one day, we’re going to, and it’s going to be amazing. I can’t wait for the day when we can make a home and a _life_ together.”

“Then why are you saying no?” Bucky asks. _Christ, get a grip, Barnes_. He’s practically pouting.

“Because, I… I got the chance to live those years that you’re going to live. I don’t expect you to understand just yet. Someday, you will.” Steve’s brows furrow as he exhales a small sigh. “Look, Buck… I’d give anything to pack everything up and run away with you. Really. You know, to be honest, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of times when you’re gone that I’m gonna kick myself for having said no.”

“Then don’t say no,” Bucky tries. “I don’t get what the problem is.”

“Because… Because as much as I would love to be able to do that, you really need to live this part of your life for yourself,” Steve explains. “I want you to make all sorts of memories that are _yours_. You – you need to learn who you are, and not just who you are when you’re with me.

“There’s no need for you to feel like you have to pick one over the other, Buck. You can have both – and you will. You’re going to have such an amazing time out there, and I’m going to love to hear all about it, every step of the way. And when you’re ready, I’ll still be right here. _Then_ we’ll start a life together that’s entirely ours, I promise. But for now… this is your chance to really get to know Bucky Barnes; find out who he is.”

Bucky’s bottom lip is trembling. Leave it to Steve to always say exactly the right things that reduce Bucky to an emotional sap, even if it’s not entirely what he wanted to hear. Personally, he’d still love to have Steve join him, but… he also knows Steve has some great points. Points he can’t really deny. Averting his gaze quickly, he wipes at his eyes, warding off anymore tears by exhaling a short chuckle.

“Why are you always right?” he asks. “I hate it when you’re always right.”

Steve smiles. “Hey, Bucky.”

“Mm?”

“I’m so proud of you. Congratulations, baby… You’re going to rock it over there.”

Bucky smiles back, overwhelmed with gratitude, his brain still working away to process all of this. “I love you,” he says. “And you… you still love me?”

“Bucky, of course I do.”

“You do?”

Now slowly appearing troubled, Steve asks, “You really thought I wouldn’t love you anymore because of that?”

“I… I dunno,” Bucky mumbles, embarrassed. “That, plus all the other stuff we talked about, I just… Yeah, I guess, I… Fuck, I’m sorry--”

Steve shakes his head, sighing softly again under his breath. “No, baby, hey, it’s okay. Look at me. Of course I still love you… ‘kay? And tomorrow, I’m gonna love you even _more_ , and even more the next day, and every day after that. Alright? You’re my forever, sweetheart. I’ve been waiting my whole life for you – no way I’d ever let anything take you from me now. Okay?"

Bucky wants to protest, if only to keep hearing that – nothing but that, all night, for hours, until Bucky can see him for real again. Instead, his mouth twitches as he takes that in, too, and he nods again.

“Okay,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Steve echoes. “Seriously baby, please don’t worry about any of that shit with Pierce. I _don’t_ see you differently and I never will. In fact, you know what I think, Buck?”

“What?”

“I think you were young and you made mistakes, just like every other human being on the planet. You think I didn’t do plenty of stupid things in my life? I can rival some of your stories, I’m sure.”

Bucky shows a hint of a smile. “You? Being a badass? No way.”

Steve mirrors it. “You say that now, but you’d be surprised. Look, my point is, we’d all go back and do some things differently if we had the chance. Sure, I’m not gonna lie – I wish that you hadn’t ever gone back to Alex again. But I know that won’t change anything, so there’s no point in dwelling on it.

“I think you wanted to give your heart away for the first time, and I think it wound up being to someone who really didn’t deserve it. I think you’re a kind person with a kind heart, who tried to see the best in him when really, he who was too fucking chickenshit to man up and realize what a good thing he could’ve had. I _also_ think that I’m sort of happy Natasha kicked the crap out of him – but technically I really shouldn’t be admitting that, so that’s neither here nor there.”

He winks, and Bucky’s smile grows, shy but noticeably brighter as he bites at his bottom lip.

“There’s that smile,” Steve says, affectionate. “I love when you smile, sweetheart. You know… It was _his_ loss, Buck. But… in a way, I feel like I almost have to thank him. Not for hurting you, but… for being such an idiot. He could’ve had you but he fucked it up. And… you and I might not’ve had our chance otherwise, and…

“I wish you never had to go through any of that, but I’m happy I was given the chance to be able to make every last second of that up to you now. If every mistake in my life, every little bad thing that ever happened was all just a stepping stone to leading me down the path to you, then I’d do it all over again any day.”

Butterflies flitter around in Bucky’s stomach; every time Steve talks like this, it never fails. Bucky will never know what he did to ever be so lucky.

“I know,” he murmurs, “me too…”

“Hey, listen to me, okay?” says Steve. “Thank you… Thank you for telling me all of that. I know that wasn’t easy for you and I know it’s been bothering you for a while. All I ever want is for you to feel safe, Buck. No matter what’s bothering you, no matter what’s going on, I want you to feel you can talk to me. You don’t need to bottle things up, sweetheart. There’s nothing we can’t work out together. I’m always gonna be in your corner, always.”

Bucky nods. It’s only in this moment that he realizes… he really believes that now. He thought he had before – thought that was something he knew this entire time – but evidently there was still a part of Bucky that’d been closed off. As much as he loved Steve and trusted him, he hadn’t trusted him one-hundred percent, though he’d _thought_ he did.

Bucky can tell the difference now.

A lot of people would’ve walked away. A lot of people would’ve judged Bucky in one way or another; turned his confession – his vulnerabilities – into a reason to crucify him. Steve responded with nothing but open arms. He’s never treated Bucky any other way.

He’s truly shown Steve every side of him now, good and bad. Ugly and beautiful… and Steve _still_ only sees the good in him. In his eyes, Bucky’s no less beautiful than he’s always been. Steve ran his fingertips over all of Bucky’s jagged edges and decided that he’s still perfect, still so precious, even with all his imperfections.

And now more than ever, Bucky realizes that this is what complete and utter trust feels like. Every worry and insecurity he ever had, right from the very beginning, no longer matters. Steve’s right, Steve’s always, always right… Whatever it is, they’ll get through it together. Bucky can finally believe it now. No more doubts. They’ll always find a way.

“I promise,” he says. “I won’t hide anything anymore... Steve… Thank you. I don’t even know what to say right now, just… Thank you, Steve.”

_For setting me free, for teaching me what it is to live, for letting me be yours…_

“I love you, Buck,” Steve swears to him. “You never need to thank me for treating you the way you should’ve always been treated. Pierce was a fucking idiot for not appreciating you, but I’m gonna make sure you never feel like that again, okay? You’re a goddamn Prince, sweetheart, and,” he places a hand to his chest as if taking an oath, one side of his mouth upturned, “I’m but your humble servant.”

Bucky sniffles again. Unable to help it, a grin spreads across his face as he starts to laugh. “You’re such a dork,” he says, adoring.

“No, I’m serious,” Steve insists, “it’d be a privilege to spend the rest of my life worshipping you.” And then his smile simmers down, tone gentling as he murmurs, “Kissing your feet, or… _anywhere_ I wanted, anywhere you’d let me… Prove to you how a real man loves. I can do that, sweetheart. I _will_ do that, if you let me. Will you let me?”

Bucky’s not sure whether Steve’s _trying_ to turn him on, or if he’s simply waxing poetic in all seriousness and the fact that it’s arousing as hell is nothing more than a happy coincidence. Whatever the intent is, it’s working. Endorphins rush throughout his system, placating Bucky’s body and mind; only further reinforcing that surreal realization that _everything is actually going to be okay…_

His mouth feels a little dry, and Bucky finds himself having to lick his lips. Obediently, he tips his chin to resemble a nod. “Yes sir,” he susurrates, voice softening and dropping in pitch beyond his control.

Satisfied with Bucky’s response, Steve smiles with one firm nod. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. Now – you really should get outta that bathroom and downstairs to your friends.”

“But I don’t wanna hang up,” Bucky says, definitely pouting this time.

Steve laughs, staring at the screen adoringly. “I don’t either, baby, but – c’mon, you’re there to spend time with them, not be locked upstairs all night on your phone.”

Bucky knows he’s right. Again. Still, though. “But I miss you.”

“I miss you too, but you’ll see me tomorrow,” Steve reminds him. “I’ll be up bright and early just to make sure I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Fine,” Bucky says, relenting with just the quietest sigh, done mostly for show.

Steve’s eyebrow arches. “I’m sorry, are you back-talking me?” he teases. “Is that what’s happening right now?”

Biting his lip, Bucky tries to fight the smile that evokes from him. “No sir.”

“I didn’t think so. Alright, go on baby – and hey! Remember what I said: you’ve got nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be just fine. So don’t ruin your night by thinking anymore of it, okay? Just have fun.”

“Okay. I will. I’m probably gonna leave my phone up here to charge, so I’ll text you before I head to bed, okay?”

Steve nods. “Alright, not a problem. I might already be sleeping by then, but shoot it off anyways if you feel like it. It’ll give me something nice to wake up to.”

Rising to his feet, Bucky replies, “Okay, sounds good. Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Bucky smiles. Amazingly, it feels so much easier now. Like how it did before. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve says, smiling back. Bringing the phone closer to his face, his lips purse as he kisses the air directly in front of the camera. Bucky blushes, giggling deep in his throat. It’s cheesy as hell, but then again, pretty much everything about Steve is. That’s one of the things Bucky adores about him so much.

So he returns the air kiss, giggling again when it makes Steve grin. They tell each other they love each other _one_ more time – Bucky can’t help that he repeats himself a lot when it comes to that – and then finally, they hang up. Slowly bringing down his hand holding the phone, he stares off and, just like he’d done after speaking with his best friends, replays the highlights of the conversation over in his mind. He gauges how he’s feeling.

There’s still some trepidation regarding Alex; the fear of what may or may not happen. That’s a given. But beyond that… He feels… His brows knit together. _Huh_. This is the first time in over a week that Bucky feels like his head is clearer again. Like… he can finally see things rationally again, and put them into their proper perspectives.

He’s… Actually, he’s calm.

 _Calm._ Wow. Bucky thinks – he thinks he might not actually be afraid anymore. There’s nothing to _be_ afraid of now. All because he did what he should’ve done all along and _talked_ things out rather than try to bury them away for so long.

His brows are still knit, but the corners of his mouth turn up as he exhales, short and quiet. Bucky smiles. For a split second, he starts to remind himself, _he doesn’t have to do that, there’s no audience…_

But this time it’s not about that. He doesn’t have to, but he still is. He wants to.

He keeps smiling, and he realizes he’s doing it for himself.

* * *

Bucky’s glad he decided to crash there with his friends, because he winds up having the time of his life. He doesn’t feel much like doing anymore drinking, since he doesn’t want to risk a potential hangover come morning. Everyone else continues on around him though, and that’s fine. 

When Quill winds up pulling out his baggy and rolls a spliff, _that_ Bucky does join his friends outside to get in on. It’s been a while since he’s smoked anything other than cigarettes, so he winds up coughing more than usual, prompting Quill and Clint to bust his balls. The high eventually settles over him, and back in the basement, Bucky vegges out and just _relaxes_ for the first time and god knows how long. Eyes bloodshot and mouth dry as fuck, Bucky feels his pulse in his head, and he’s nice and loose. Light.

It sort of reminds him of what subspace felt like, just a bit, in terms of things seeming a bit fuzzy. Kinda dreamlike. Not like it comes close, though. Nothing could, that’s for fucking sure. God, that’s the best high Bucky could ever experience. He hopes Steve can help take him there again sometime soon.

And he _definitely_ knows it’s the pot talking, but he also can’t help from wondering if Steve ever smokes pot. It’s kind of weird to imagine, but strangely hot. Bucky doesn’t do it very often himself, but still… He wonders what Steve would say if Bucky ever asked him to do a shotgun together…

And then Bucky gets distracted when the pizza they ordered arrives, and the rumbling in his stomach wins over anymore thought. Renata and Grigory eventually return home, but they only come downstairs long enough to say hello, give their daughter a kiss on the cheek, and then say goodnight. The rest of the night is spent laughing, and reminiscing, and putting on bad movies in the background, and even raiding Natasha’s junk food cupboard at, like, three a.m.

Several times, Bucky’s tempted to run up to Natasha’s room and grab his phone. But every time that impulse rears its head, he stops himself, remembering what Steve had pointed out earlier. Bucky’s supposed to be spending time with his _friends_. This summer will be the last they all have together like this. Sure, they’ll always be best buds, and they’ll still hang out plenty, but it won’t be the same. Not like this.

And Bucky doesn’t want to look back on this night and feel like he let that precious time go to waste. Besides, like Steve told him, they’d be seeing each other soon enough anyways. So his phone remains upstairs, and Bucky remains right there with his friends. And though he misses the shit out of Steve, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Eventually, by around the four-thirty mark, most of the gang is passed out; bodies randomly littered throughout the spacious basement, some with pillows and blankets on the floor, others sprawled on a couple of different couches. Quill’s somehow managed to squish himself onto the recliner, with his legs dangling over one side and his head over the other. There’s no way that can be comfortable, but he’s snoring loud enough, so… _To each their own_ , Bucky guesses.

Only he and Parker are still awake and actually watching the end of the last movie they’d put on. Technically, Clint and Natasha are still awake, too – but _technically_ , sitting off in the corner and making out for the past forty-odd minutes doesn’t really count as ‘hanging out’ with them. But given how many years it’s taken the two of them to get their act together, Bucky knows better than to make them stop. He doesn’t have a death wish.

They all decide to call it a night once the credits start rolling. Even though there’s an unspoken rule that Bucky _always_ sleeps in Nat’s bed with her if he’s staying the night, Bucky naturally assumes that perhaps Clint will be taking his usual spot tonight. Rather than say anything, he starts scoping out a spot on the floor for him to make camp. When he goes to the closet to start pulling out a comforter for himself, though, Natasha shoots him a weird look.

“What’re you doing?” she asks.

Bucky glances over at her, matching her expression. “Grabbing… a blanket…?” he replies, not understanding her confusion.

“Dude, there’s already a duvet on my bed. It’ll be a zillion degrees if we have that, too. You can’t be _that_ cold.”

“Uh…”

Natasha shrugs. “I mean, you can sleep down here if you want to. Just don’t know why you’d want the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed with your name on it.”

Turns out things are still a little _too_ soon for Clint to have bed privileges. Bucky also can’t help but suspect that Natasha would’ve offered it to him anyways, given the night she knows he’s had. At first, Bucky spares Clint a wary side glance, starting to say that it’s fine; he doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor. He’s not sure what exactly those two even are now – whether they’ve decided they’re dating, or if it’s too soon for _that_ , too – but if there was ever a moment to not want to step on anyone’s toes, Bucky knows it’s now.

But Clint waves his hand and cuts him off, “It’s fine, dude, don’t worry about it. Just don’t get any ideas,” he adds as a joke.

Bucky smirks. “Damn, well there went my plan.”

Clint flips him off, only pretending to grumble about it a little before another lingering kiss from Natasha shuts him up and mollifies things pretty quick. Bucky, the third wheel of this moment, watches the two as his smirk blossoms into a grin. He coos out, “Ooooh,” but before he can get any further, Clint points at him and says, “Nope, not a word.”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Bucky whines.

“It’s too late for that, and frankly, I’m way too drunk for any good comebacks, so no,” Clint says.

“Yeah, well, you can’t silence me forever,” Bucky replies, Natasha already tugging him towards the stairs while she murmurs her goodnights to whoever else is still awake. “I have rights!” he calls over his shoulder.

“Jesus, Barnes, shut the fuck up!” Ben groans groggily from across the room, woken up by their banter. With a hushed apology, Bucky and Natasha glance to each other and then pick up the pace, running up the stairs on their tippy toes, trying and failing to not crack up.

When they get back into Natasha’s room, she calls dibs on the bathroom first. Bucky uses the opportunity to scoop up the bundle that is his jacket (with his cleaned up plug hidden within the folds) and move it over to the floor on his side of the bed. While he waits for his turn, he strips out of the rest of his clothes. Left in nothing but his boxer briefs, Bucky takes a seat on the side of her bed and picks up his phone to send off that promised goodnight message to Steve.

Upon turning on his screen, Bucky notices two things straight away:

The first, that he has a voicemail from Steve.

The second, that there’s a text from an unknown number.

Frowning, Bucky swipes open his phone and goes into his messages. The number may no longer be in his contacts list, but it’s still one that Bucky recognizes.

_**Sorry.** _

It’s from Alex. That’s all it says.

Bucky must’ve missed something. Either that, or it’s some sort of trap. A million scenarios start racing through Bucky’s head, when behind him, the bathroom door opens up. Still staring down at the tiny words on his screen, Bucky says, “I got a text from Alex…”

“Oh really?” Natasha asks, pulling the blankets down her bed before climbing in. “What’d he want?”

Her tone is way too conversational. She’s not even trying to act like she’s surprised – which makes no sense, since surprised doesn’t really cover it for Bucky. Turning to properly look at her, Bucky narrows his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you already know?”

She laughs. “C’mon James, I only _pretend_ I know everything. Seriously, what’d he say?”

Not fully convinced, Bucky holds out his phone so she can read it for herself. “What am I even supposed to make of that?” he asks. “Like, is that supposed to be serious? Or is it like a, ‘Sorry I’m about to fuck you over’, or…? Like I actually have no clue where this even came from.”

“Hmm,” Natasha hums. One singular note with barely any effort. Yeah, this definitely isn’t all that shocking to her somehow. Scooching further down the mattress so she can lie back and rest her head onto her pillow, she shrugs one shoulder and nonchalantly says, “He must’ve gotten my text.”

Eyes bulging, Bucky exclaims, “You _texted_ him?” Natasha looks to her door quickly, then back to Bucky, making a hasty motion with her hand and shushing him. Right. Her parents are just down the hall. Quieter, Bucky hisses, “When the hell did you do that? _Why_ would you even do that? You trying to get me killed?”

“Oh for god’s sake, take a chill pill,” Natasha replies, rolling her eyes. “It was while you were still upstairs. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything bad.”

"How do you even know his number?"

"I have my ways."

"'Kay seriously, Nat, what'd you say?"

Shrugging again, that slight smirk returns and she innocently answers, “I may have just told him that if he didn’t apologize and keep quiet, I’d have absolutely no problem having another word with him in private. And that this time, everyone _would_ find out about it.”

Bucky’s mouth is hanging open in disbelief. “You _threatened_ him?”

“Insurance purposes,” she states simply. “C’mon, like you really care? At least now you can know for sure he won’t tell anyone. Besides, we’ll all be outta there soon anyways. Trying anything at this point would only fuck him over as much as it would you.” Yawning, she pulls the duvet up to her chin and rolls onto her side. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

She has a point. There’s no way Alex would risk ruining everything he’s worked so hard to build for himself when there’s only a few weeks left of school and the threat of Natasha making him regret his choices hanging over his head. The guy said it himself: he planned to leave high school with nothing but his _accomplishments_ to his name. No way he’d sully that now.

And after all, Alex won’t ever admit it, but at this point he doesn’t have to: there’s very little that scares him, but one guarantee that _does_ is Natasha Romanoff.

So basically, she just saved Bucky’s ass. Again.

Only this time, Bucky won’t repeat his past mistakes. The very last of fears alleviated, Bucky leans over and hugs her, cheek pressed to her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Her eyes are already closed, but there’s a smile on her face when she replies, “You’re welcome. No go use the bathroom if you have to. I wanna turn the light off already.”

She’s asleep by the time he comes out a few minutes later, the lamp on her bedside table still on. Smiling to himself, Bucky turns it off before feeling his way around to his side and crawling in next to her. Instead of closing his eyes, Bucky unplugs his phone and accesses his voicemail. Turning down the volume so it won’t wake Natasha, Bucky gets settled on his side and slides the phone between the pillow and his ear.

He assumes Steve phoned to say goodnight. But when the voicemail starts, there’s the shortest of pauses before Steve starts _singing,_ softly, lovingly:

_“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey…”_

Bucky closes his eyes, smiles spreading back across his face as his heart threatens to burst. Steve is such a fucking dork. And Bucky is head over heels for him with absolutely no shame.

 _“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you… So please don’t take my sunshine away…_ ”

Bucky hears Steve inhale a feathery light breath, and then he says, _“You_ are _my sunshine, Buck. Sweet dreams.”_

The voicemail ends. Bucky replays it again. And again. And again. Steve’s voice in his ear, and his words stitched into Bucky’s heart. Moonlight streams in through the cracks in Natasha’s blinds; spills across Bucky’s face, and he listens to Steve sing over and over about how Bucky is his sunshine. It’s fitting, Bucky thinks, that Steve should see him like that. After all, to Bucky it was always Steve who’d hung the moon. 

And as he eventually begins to drift off, Bucky thinks of Steve, and he thinks of Natasha – of his friends, or his family, of school, even of Alex – and he realizes how lucky he truly is. Tonight, Bucky had believed it was only a matter of time before his whole world burned to the ground around him. But really, it had given him a precious gift, something Bucky sorely needed: the opportunity to tear down the confines of his past and give him the chance at a fresh start. It gave him _hope._ Suddenly, the future _isn’t_ scary. Not at all.

In fact, he might even be looking forward to it.

Bucky falls asleep still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends Bucky's POV in this story! I will miss being in that boy's head (though I can't lie, the last couple chapters were _exhausting_ to write 'cause of all the angst. But for those of you who enjoyed his perspective, never fear! The sequel will alternate between Steve's and Bucky's POVs :) And for those of who you've missed Steve's POV like I have, I look forward to returning to it come next chapter.  <3
> 
> The last three chapters were pretty fucking heavy, so please enjoy this adorable and fluffy gif post I made earlier today. Try to imagine this being Steve and Bucky a few years down the road, when they can actually be goofballs like this in public and not have to hide anymore <3
> 
> And here are your porn images for today!
> 
> 1\. Bucky teasing himself for Steve's pleasure ;)
> 
> 2\. HOLY FUCK, BLESS TAYTE HANSON AND WHOEVER THIS OTHER GUY IS FOR BEING SUCH GREAT S/B LOOKALIKES! *heart eyes*
> 
> 3\. Such a beautiful little boy...
> 
> 4\. Rimming always tends to get Bucky a little weak in the knees
> 
> 5\. Playing with that cute little hole
> 
> 6\. Working for it

**Author's Note:**

> So one of my favorite Tumblr artists, [sargeantstuckbutts](http://sargeantstuckbutts.tumblr.com/post/112406774894/) made this AMAZING drawing for this fic, and it's fucking incredible and I think it should be seen by all. Also, they are stupidly talented and have a LOT more Stucky art where that came from (some of which are NSFW, so keep that in mind when checking their blog in public), so you should really go follow them.


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